As it Seems
by Percy's Gadzooks
Summary: When House walks in on something he shouldn't have, his world is turned upside-down in the most unforeseen circumstances and he learns to never make any assumptions. Rated T for some strong dialogue. Contains Hurt!House.
1. Chapter 1

8

**Hey guys! Just wanted to let you all know that this is my first HOUSE fan fiction. I try the best to keep everyone in character, but if I do slip up please do not hesitate to tell me. It means a lot to me. **

**So what can you expect from this peace? Well, let's just say lots of drama. I ship Huddy so... Hint hint. This story is going to be taking place somewhere around 3rd season, with the original ducklings and House and Cuddy NOT having been previously in a relationship. **

**The Story will be told about 60% of the time in the Point of View of House, though that can fluctuate a bit. It's always good to get that outside reading of House, you know. This story will also feature some original characters.**

**So, here it goes.**

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Doctor Gregory House strolled into the lobby at PPTH at a not-so-sharp 10:36. He was supposed to have come in around nine, but his leg had, annoyingly, acted up that morning. Of course, he wouldn't have relayed that information to anyone, planning to just call in sick. He didn't have a case to be working on. That was until he was paged by one of his fellows to get his ass down to the hospital. Well, not in that particular word order, but the meaning had been clearly understood.

So House had taken a couple vicodin before pulling an old rolling stones T-shirt over his head along with a sky-blue button-down, his jacket, and a scarf, finally making his way out into the cold February morning. He had to take his old beaten-up car because of some stupid freezing rain that had fallen the night before, as well as the biting air, preventing him from taking the bike. He wouldn't take the chance at slipping on the ice. He had way too many plans to annoy Cuddy for being called in.

"Shit! Shit! Shit!" A high-pitched screeching filled the air as House's car refused to start after being neglected through the freezing winter night. House hit his palms against the steering wheel with frustration, not wanting to be any more late than he already was in getting to work. If he was just facing clinic duty, then fine, the stuffy noses and rotten crotches could wait.

Hell! House wouldn't have even tried to make it into work, but Foreman had said that the patient awaiting him had shown some interesting symptoms. Also, Cuddy would have been sure to ride his ass if he didn't get into the hospital soon, not that he really cared, he told himself.

After about 20 minutes of coaxing the car to start up, House heard the promising rumble of the engine. He let the motors warm up a little bit before he put the car in drive and pulled out of his parallel parking spot outside of his apartment.

About five minutes into the drive, House's cell phone started ringing, hearing the familiar ring tone of mmmbop, he let the some continue without answering, keeping both hands on the wheel. He had already skidded once on the icy road and didn't want to take any chances by answering his phone, letting it go to voicemail. If the team really needed to get a hold of him urgently, they would have paged him and House would have pulled over to make the call.

_The ducklings are just getting impatient_, House thought. But he kept the same speed of about five miles over the speed limit, being careful to avoid any slick spots on the road. In the fifteen more minutes it took House to reach the hospital, his phone didn't ring again.

And here he was in the lobby at 10:36, waiting for Doctor PartyPants to come out and scold him so he could snitch a peak at Louise and Thelma, much to the administrator's dismay. While waiting, House limped over to the receptionist's desk.

"You have no new messages, Dr. House, although your team has called down wondering when you were supposed to come in," said the preppy, blond young woman behind the desk. However, she was just a little to preppy for the diagnostician's liking. He would have to take her down a few notches. She was obviously new, not having heard all of the horror stories of the infamous Doctor House.

"Sorry, told them I was going to be in early for a game of strip poker. The girl can't keep her hands off me. And by the girl, I mean the British one." At the click-clack of high-heels coming up behind him, House readied himself for the obvious scolding that would be coming his way.

Attack is the best kind of defense, so without turning his head, admiring the shocked expression he saw spreading across the receptionist's face, "you know Cuddles, if you wanted to get all up my jock, the janitor's closet is free at 2 o' clock. I already pre-scheduled with Chase and Cameron. They have it booked at 2:30 so sadly we'd have it just quickie."

With a smirk across his lips and a mischievous glint in his sky-blue eyes, House turned to look upon his assailant. However, instead of the high-powered Dean of Medicine walking his way, he was met with the tempestuous glare of an oncology fellow, making her way to the elevators.

"Go to Hell, House," she said coldly without giving him a second glance. House could have sworn that the hip-swaying gait was near identical to Cuddy's.

"That closet is still open if you want to join me!" House yelled out as the younger, womanly doctor disappeared behind the closing doors of the elevator, where House knew she was rolling her eyes. Averting his gaze back to the receptionist's desk, "So has the dean decided to call in sick after a rough night with Mr. Whitey-Tighties?"

"Uh... No, Dr. House. Dr. Cuddy called in _late_ after her car _wouldn't start_ before of that freezing rain last night. She should be in later." The receptionist turned back to computer, ignoring any remark that came her way from the mouth of the infamous doctor before her.

"The fact that she left her office last night with an expression of a female praying mantis gave you no suspicions? None at all? I thought it was pretty obvious?" Still, the receptionist ignored House. "You're no fun at all, are you? You must be a real bore for Dr. Hackley." It was his turn to leave without waiting for a reply, while behind him another look of utter shock spread over the receptionist's face, nearly identical to the one she had sported earlier, although this one held a touch of guilt.

Limping over to the elevator, House extended his cane to the up button, waiting for a "bing" and the doors to slide open. Luckily, everyone else had thought better of joining the elevator with the curmudgeonly doctor and waited for the next ride up, leaving House alone with his thoughts while he made is ascent to the 4th floor. The doors slid open. House made his way to his office.

Opening the door of his own separate office first to put his backpack on his desk, House was barged in on by his three younger fellows.

"House! We've been waiting for to show up since nine this morning. We tried to call you. _Twice_. It's 10:40." Standing in the doorway was the epitome of a man on a power trip, the kind of power that House would never allow him to gain. The clenched fists and rigid posture told volumes on the character of Dr. Foreman.

"Good morning to you too, Dr. Foreman." House replied pleasantly.

"Patient presented with Ataxia and joint swelling after playing by the pool with her kids. No signs of past illness or injury or hereditary illness. The kids say that before the sudden onset of symptoms, she would sometimes stop talking and look off blankly before becoming seemingly fine again." Chase had hoped to prevent a quarrel between Foreman and House. The last thing that either of them needed right now was to start off the day hating each other more than they already did, or at least having Foreman not hate House any more than he already did.

"Well, she obviously wasn't, Dr. Chase, now was she?" said House with a sarcastic tone to his voice. Cameron was about to speak up when...

"Hold that thought." House looked off into the distance with a light shining in his eyes. Chase, thinking his boss had suddenly though of something, and so quickly, was excited to hear what House was about to say. After a few waiting seconds, "Can we move into the big room with all the comfy chairs? We can't just stand here all day. Well, Foreman could, seeing that he's a robot." House put his hand up to his face as if he wasn't supposed to release that information. "I'm so sorry, Foreman. I didn't realize you wanted to keep that information confidential!"

Chase sighed and moved in the conference room, while Foreman rolled his eyes, leaving Cameron still standing up with her boss. "House," she started. "If your leg's bothering you we can—"

"Delay this morning's hot, kinky sex that you were waiting oh so desperately for?" House said loudly enough for the two doctors in the conference room to hear him. "I thought after last night you—"

Before finishing his sentence, Cameron rolled her eyes and briskly walked into the conference room, taking the far seat on the side with the glass wall.

House limped after Cameron into the conference room as well. But he didn't sit down at the head of the table, instead making his way to the whiteboard that was in the middle of the room.

"So... Ataxia, Joint Swelling, In and Out of reality... However that last part is pretty much common with any TV star so..."

Foreman piped up, "I'm thinking something neurological. Partial complex seizures could explain the blankness while causing something else to go on in her brain.

Chase had to say his bit "Or she could be exposed to some sort of toxin, causing her symptoms. Wow! Says this woman here fell into the pool after blanking out one time. She nearly drowned."

Ignoring Chase's last comment, "An infection could cause all of her presented symptoms. Maybe I should go talk to the patient to see if she's been anywhere new that she hasn't already told us. She can still talk so maybe she could give us some sort of clues herself," Cameron said.

House started. "Of course, Cameron. Talking will always solve _anybody's_ problem. Go run a tox screen and book her in for a CT scan. Be sure to bump any old ladies with cancer down the list."

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Wilson was sitting at his desk, quietly going over some files. In the background, he was playing some music that House had made him listen to over the years. _Of all the things House does, his taste in music is pretty good_, thought Wilson.

Speaking of the devil himself, House barged into Wilson's office after naught a knock.

"Good, you're not with any of those sick people," said House. "I don't know how you can stand being around them all day long."

"What do you want, House?"

"Did you have any old ladies waiting to get a CT scan this morning?"

"What? No. Why?"

"Oh. Nothing, really." House limped over to the couch, slowly sitting down on it. "So... Wilson, who's Cuddy dating now?" House certainly did have an invested look going, expecting an answer out of the oncologist.

"House, we really have no right to be talking about Cuddy's personal life. If she wanted you to know, she'd tell you herself." Wilson sighed. Looking back down at his, he tried to ignore House, hoping he'd just go away if he pretended he wasn't there. Sadly, Gregory House wasn't to be ignored.

"Oh, come on, Wilson. We all know that with even a clue of any sort of life outside the hospital, that she would come running to you without any more than a second's thought." House wasn't going to leave this office without some kind of an answer, and Wilson knew it just as well as House did.

"He's... a donor."

"As in he'll donate organs if he ever happens to get in a really bad car accident?"

"No. He's a donor as in he has a successful business and gives lots of money to this hospital," Wilson replied with a slight shaking of his head, really wanting to get back to work. "If you want to know more, go ask Cuddy yourself, like I said before." On any other day Wilson would have led House on, having fun with his best friend, but today he had meetings with multiple patients as well as another that was likely to die soon.

Not at all satisfied with that answer, House was going to push on a bit more. He thought better of it though, seeing that his friend really was in no mood to be playing games. Still, he couldn't just completely end the game that he was playing. "I bet the dude's a real prick. He's just trying to get into her pants, you know."

"House, you care about her. Try telling her that sometime. You don't want her going out with any other guy because you don't want her to change. If you're at all threatened by the idea of Cuddy dating, go ask her out yourself instead of trying to get information out of me." Wilson said, not looking up from what he was looking at.

"I'll be sure to try that sometime." Sarcasm reached ever point in House's tone. Now, it was House's turn to roll his eyes before getting up, picking himself up off the couch. He was out of the door and down the hallway to the elevators before Wilson said another word.

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House turned the handle of Cuddy's office door before pushing it open with the end of his cane. Looking into the dimly lit office, House saw Cuddy talking on the phone with a smile on her face. A large manila folder was in his left hand.

"Yes... Of Course, Logan. I have to go, now... I'll see you tonight... Goodbye... haha... Yes... Bye." Cuddy's phone conversation ended as she hung up the phone with a solid click before turning to House. The smile that was previously spread across her face faded as she saw her _favorite_ doctor standing before her.

House just wanted to get this over with right now, not wanting to deal with his love-struck boss. He could toy with her later, but now his patient's life was at the line, as well as the words of Wilson still persisting inside mind. _Is it really that obvious? _"I need to do a brain biopsy. Patient presented with ataxia, joint swelling, and partial complex seizures. CT scan showed a small shadow in the frontal lobe that could result in the seizures, which could, in turn, cause the ataxia and joint swelling over a long period of time."

"How large is the shadow?"

"About that... none of the radiologists were able to spot it. Said I was seeing things when I spotted it. Actually, scratch that. Wade said that there might be something where I saw the shadow, but we all know that he's just trying to play his cards right. Don't know what he could want from me but—"

"Is there a shadow or is there not a shadow?"

"Do you have a soul or do you not have a soul?" House arched his eyebrow while keeping a completely straight face.

Rolling her eyes, "The eternal question." Cuddy deadpanned, as she moved to hold out her hand, "Let me see the scans."

"Here." House handed the scans to her. "Make it quick before my patient dies." As Cuddy took the scans, holding them up to the lamp at her desk, House couldn't help but admire the woman before him, the profile of her face, the curves of her breasts, the—

"I don't see anything, House." His eyes averted from their setting and came up. Sky blue met slate grey, the latter looking annoyed and disappointed. Slate grey continued, "Either run another CT scan with a better view or come up with another way to prove that something's really in her frontal lobe."

"But Mom!" House said in his best whiny, little-kid voice.

"House, nothing's there and I'm not going to let you cut into this woman's head without solid proof that it's the best thing for her. That's final." As Cuddy ended her spiel, her cell phone rang again. Looking down at the caller ID, she smiled. House scoffed in mock disgust as he turned around and limped out of the office, intent on getting his brain biopsy one way one way or another.

Finally inside his office, House addressed his team. "So what do we do when mommy puts the cookie drawer high up on the refrigerator."

Chase, lowering the coffee cup from his mouth, was the first one to answer. "We climb on top of the counter and use a hockey stick to knock it down?"

Cameron responded to Chase's antics, "Is that what you did when you were a kid?"

"No I'm just saying that _theoretically_ it would be possible to get the cookies by knocking them off with a hockey stick." He was met with one of Cameron's ice-cold glares. "Honestly."

House didn't wait for Cameron to respond, cutting her off before she could say another word. "Unfortunately, if we knock the cookie jar off of the refrigerator, we're just left with a broken jar, shattered into thousands of tiny, unfixable pieces."

"We can buy another cookie jar before Mom gets home."

"But the one from before was an irreplaceable antique. Mommy would be sure to notice."

While he had previously been quiet throughout the entire ordeal, Foreman had his say, "Can we please drop the metaphor!"

House ignored him, "And lots of broken cookies as well, with pieces of tiny glass in them. Oh! What were you saying, dark-skinned one?" said House, a knowing smirk trying to push its way onto his serious face.

"I was saying that if we keep on with this metaphor, we're not dealing with the real issue at hand, our patient. I say we run another CT scan to see if we can get a better picture."

"And so would be the actions of countless other doctors throughout this country, and the results would be all the same, inconclusive." House was now in full-diagnostician mode. "Other symptoms of frontal-lobe tumors include neurological problems. If we can induce something, we would have the proof we needed to get our brain biopsy. Chase, Cameron, go have some fun with our patient! I'll be having some fun with another."

"What other patient are you dealing with right now?" asked Cameron.

"Patient presented with a locked smile, a really expensive perfume, and do-me heels. Any more questions?" House picked up his cane, used his hands to pick up his right leg, and strolled out of the conference room, where two of his fellows were rolling their eyes and the last one ignored his bosses comment before running his hands through his blond, surfer-boy hair.

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"Can't I ever just get rid of you?" Cuddy said, looking up from her paperwork as House walked, well, more like limped, into her office. "I told my assistant that I didn't want to be bothered right now. I'm very busy, House."

"She doesn't have much resolution, does she?" House waited for Cuddy's reaction, but didn't get one. He tried a different approach. "The fundraiser for pompous, power-hungry, old guys can wait. We have some more pressing matters at hand." House said, leaning onto one of the chairs in front of Cuddy's desk. "And besides, you don't want to get rid of me. I see the way you look at my ass every time I leave your office."

"I'm only eagerly awaiting its trip _out _of this office, making sure it leaves."

"So you can have your new little boy toy come over to play? I don't know, Cuddy. With your aging physique and constant mood swings, you might have to jump on this one pretty quickly before he realizes what a bitch you really are. I'm so sorry, did I say that out loud?"

Cuddy, although she appeared to be fuming, couldn't deny that she was trying very not to chuckle, even if the joke had been on her behalf. "House, I keep my personal life separate from my work, which includes you."

"So what's his name? Oh wait! I already know, seeing how I walked in on you and _Logan_ on that wonderful phone sex you two were having earlier." A glint shone in House's eyes.

"I was not—"

"It's okay, Cuddy. Really! Your secret is safe with me." House said. "Just don't call me up for any group. I'm really not into all that kind of stuff."

"I would never—" Cuddy stopped. She knew House was just trying to play this game with her. Frankly, she didn't want any part of it. "House, I'm not playing this game. I have work to do."

"Cuddy," House paused.

"Did you have more conclusive findings in a CT scan that prove that we need to cut into your patient's head?" Cuddy said before the conversation went any further. She didn't want to do this now. "Because if you don't, you can move that ass of yours out the door, where you can be _sure_ I won't be admiring it."

House opened his mouth as if to say something, but stopped. A few moments later, he continued talking. "The ducklings are running some neurological tests that _will_ prove that there's a tumor in her frontal lobe, causing the seizures." As if on cue, House's pager went off. "Aha! Patient's crashing."

**I don't want to beg anyone for reviews, but Please? This story's just getting started and I haven't hit anywhere close to the main plot line yet. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi! I'm back. I really shouldn't go two weeks without updating, but real life is getting in the way. I'm moving! Packing and such is a drag. I'm on vacation for a little bit right now and will try to update as much as I can right now. **

**Thanks!**

Cuddy was a liar. As House left her office, a certain smirk on his face, she caught herself stealing a glance at a certain _part_ of his anatomy. It's not like she consciously made the decision to find herself some eye candy. Her eyes just made their way down without any bit of her consent.

She didn't like House in that way.

She _couldn't_ like House in that way.

Besides, she had met this other guy a few weeks ago, _Logan Burkes_. And he was giving her all she could ever ask for. Yes, he was a donor, which meant that she really shouldn't be getting involved with him because of the liability with the hospital. But then again, he didn't seem to be the type of guy that would withdraw with donation if things ever went south with them. The fact that he was really good looking also helped.

And she hadn't told anybody about her boyfriend yet either, except Wilson, but he didn't really count. Right, Wilson. She had let a few words slip right when she was getting involved with Logan, and Wilson, learning a few tips from House, had pressed her for more information.

And now House knew too. She had wanted to keep Logan a secret. ..._ Lisa..._ House would be all over it, making fun of her at every turn. But earlier, his words might have given off a sense of disregard and playfulness, but his eyes said something more... _Lisa?... _They told the truth even when House was trying his best to hide it.

The thing was, Cuddy couldn't put her tongue on what House was feeling behind that barrier he had built up for himself. Cuddy continued to think about House, but couldn't place it. No... she couldn't continue to think just about him. He wasn't hers to think about. It'd be better just to forget about him. But... still...

"Lisa Cuddy!" A loud voice interrupted Cuddy's thinking. She hadn't heard it before, being lost in her own thoughts. Standing before her, with flowers in his hands, _Lilies_, was the man himself, the one that was hers to think about.

He was tall, though not as tall Hous, maybe about 6' or 6' 1" and absolutely gorgeous, the picture-perfect, generic, good-looking man with a strong chin, prominent cheekbones, and well-set, dark brown eyes.

"Oh, Hi Logan. I was just doing some paperwork. I must have gotten really wrapped up in it, seeing how its budget season at this time of the year. Lots to do." Said Cuddy, hoping that he wouldn't catch her lie. She didn't look up at Logan again, but straightened some of the things on her desk, putting away a few files that were laid out her desk.

"Yeah, you seemed a little out of it. Long day? Sorry if I was a little loud. You didn't seem to hear me." Explained Logan. He didn't really believe that Cuddy was just 'doing some paperwork.' He had been standing there trying to get her attention for a good minute and in the entire time, her pen hadn't moved a single time. Still, he didn't want to make a big deal about it.

Cuddy, still cleaning her desk, suddenly thought of something. "Logan, what will others think when they just saw you walk into my office. I thought we agreed to keep things between us a secret for right now. We don't need any rumors spreading around the hospital."

"Lisa, don't worry. I've got it all under control. I just told your assistant that I needed to go over a few," he paused, "donation details to go over." Cuddy looked up at Logan now, seeing a half-smirk on his face. It was funny, that upturn of the lips kind of reminded her of..."

The door of Cuddy's office swung open at that second. House walked into the office, sizing up Logan. Logan did the same to House, noticing that he was a little bit shorter, but also younger. When his eyes settled on House's cane, the diagnostician looked away, turning to Cuddy.

"Turns out that there really was something going on in my patient's frontal lobe. There was a tumor. That's what we saw initially and what caused the initial partial complex seizures. The joint swelling and ataxia were actually symptoms that came up _after_ she fell into the pool. And here I was thinking that they were actually symptoms related to the seizures!" House was excited, given the recent turn of events regarding his patient. Well, maybe he was a little bit too excited. _Obnoxiously_ excited. But that could be explained by the fact that there was an _obnoxiously_ good-looking man in his boss's office who was looking at his boss. House didn't really like that. He wanted as little attention on Cuddy right now.

So, he brought all the attention to himself.

"House, cut to the chase. I was in the middle of something when you just barged in." Cuddy didn't sound the least bit amused. She was just as good at House at building walls with no way of getting over them.

"Buzzkill. Patient had a bleed in her brain that was caused by the tumor. The tumor caused the seizures. The aggravated bleed caused her other symptoms, which now includes right-side paralysis. Happy now?" House was annoyed at Cuddy's urge to get rid of him. Usually, she would say she wanted House to leave her alone, but he always knew she didn't actually mean it. Now, he wasn't completely sure, especially with this pretty-boy standing in her office.

"So, she goes into surgery to remove the tumor and fix the bleed?"

"Yep. The surgeon just needs your signoff before he cuts into her head. You know. That silly thing? Paperwork? Personally, I don't know what the big deal about it is," House replied, rolling his eyes in the process.

Cuddy couldn't resist the game. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe so that we don't get suedfor malpractice when some doctors decided they want to cut into a patient's head for funzies."

"Those morons!" House put an aghast expression on his face, playing up as much as possible.

"Yeah... _Those_ morons," Cuddy looked away from House, crossing her arms in the process. When she looked over to her right, she saw that Logan had inched closed to her. She caught a glance at House, who was trying very hard to avoid eye contact. He, very obviously by the menacing look on his face, did not like the man that we standing next to her. "House, which doctor do you want performing the surgery?"

"Henderson." House turned to leave. As he was opened the door, just about to step through, he had another question to ask, "Logan?"

"Yes?" he replied, not sure what to make of House. His voice quivered slightly as he talked.

"You better be careful." House didn't wait to hear a reply. Instead, he walked right out of the office and into the clinic. He really, _really_ did not like the man that he had left in Cuddy's office.

A clinic nurse, probably the one that had picked the short straw, called him over. Begrudgingly, House changed courses and made his way over to the large desk in the middle of the room.

"I don't have time for this," House told the nurse, a short one with mousy brown hair. She looked very nervous as he talked to her. House liked that. "You know, patient going into surgery?" Even if he hadn't had a patient at that time, he probably wouldn't have worked in the clinic.

"Well," she hesitated. "Dr. House. When you do... have a chance, we're really full in the clinic this morning. We could... really use you... help?" That last part was said as a question because during the entire time the nurse was speaking, _Nurse Juny_, according to her nametag, House's expression changed from annoyed to bored to disgusted.

"Right." House rejoined. "All those rotten crotches and stuffy noses can't wait, can they? Who knows? There might be an epidemic running through the hospital!" House raised his voice in his last sentence, making sure everyone in the clinic could hear him loud and clear.

"Dr. House! We don't say those sort of things out loud in a hospital!"

House didn't really hear the nurse. To his satisfaction, multiple people upped and left the hospital after his outburst. House prepared himself to make a sneering comment, putting a look on his face that was a mix of smugness and sincerity. "See? I helped. Got to go."

House turned away from the desk, heading towards the elevator. The clinic actually was kind of full, with all the seats being taken and multiple people standing in the hallways. House lifted his cane to press the button to go up, but just after he did so, a young-looking man tried to push around him in the rather crowded room. Coming from House's left side, the man couldn't have seen House's cane.

The force from the man sent House off-balance. Not having his cane firmly on the ground to catch himself, House tried to use his feet to regain composure. However, his right thigh couldn't take the pressure and buckled underneath him, sending House sprawling into the elevator door, pain radiating in his leg.

The entire ordeal caught the eyes of many patrons around the hospital, but the man who had pushed House down was nowhere to be seen. Everyone else in the room seemed too wary to approach House. Even the nurses, who were watching from the desk, didn't get up to help House, thinking he would bite their heads off if they even tried.

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open, causing House to fall backward and into it.

"House!"

House heard the urgent voice of none other than one of his fellows. Of course it had to be Cameron, the all-caring one. With her call, the hospital started to move again, freed from its previously stagnant form, though a few people, mostly waiting clinic patients, continued to stare.

Cameron leaned down to help House, though warily, knowing very well that the worries of everyone else in the room, who had _not_ helped House, were not unwarranted.

"I got it!" House exclaimed, pushing her hands away. Carefully, he set his cane vertically and attempted to force himself off of the ground. He was about halfway there when his right leg buckled again underneath, not happy about its earlier ordeal, sending House backwards onto his back.

"Really," Cameron was trying to get House to see some reason and let her help him. "Just let me give you a hand." She extended both arms out to grasp onto House's left.

Reluctantly, he took it, using the extra leverage to make it all the way up and onto both feet. The elevator doors were trying to close around them, but not completing their journey when the sensor detected the two doctors in the way.

House stepped into the elevator as Cameron stepped out.

"I was called down to help out in the office, House, seeing as we know what's wrong with our patient. Cuddy did give you approval for the surgery, right?" House nodded. "Just page me if anything new comes up."

House watched her leave as the elevator doors closed. He appreciated the fact that Cameron hadn't made a big deal of him falling over.

House opened his cell phone, dialed it. Once Chase answered, he told him that the surgery was approved and that Henderson would be performing it.

"Sure thing, House," said the Aussie before hanging up the phone.

House was exiting the elevator when the conversation ended. He was on the fourth floor. As House came to the hallway that diverged left and right, he decided to take a left, making his way to Wilson's office.

House didn't knock when he finally got to the door that read: DR. JAMES WILSON with letting underneath it: HEAD OF ONCOLOGY. He opened the door. Wilson was with a patient, an elderly man, who was a hand on his head and one on his heart. House could only guess what kind of news had just been given to him.

"Oh, you're with a patient!" Most people would have apologized and left the room at that. But House wasn't _most_ _people_. Instead, he limped over to the couch and plopped down onto it, showing all indication that he would wait until Wilson was finished.

Or not.

"That Logan guy is a complete asshole, Wilson."

"House. _I'm with a patient_." House was completely ignoring the disgusted front that Wilson was putting up right now. He could tell that Wilson, underneath it all, was at least _somewhat_ interested.

"I know. That Logan guy is a _really_ a complete asshole, Wilson."

"Can this wait, House?" Okay, maybe that disgusted front wasn't really _just_ a front.

The patient piped up. "Uh, Dr Wilson? Maybe I should just go. Is there really anything else that you need to tell me?"

"Well, Mr. Frederick, just some dates for chemo and such. I uh-"

House got up off the couch, making his may toward the patient. His movements caused Wilson to stop mid-sentence. "You're going to be dead with in the year." House was looking up and down the patient through the entire conversation time and had come to his conclusion during that time.

"House!"

"What!"

The two of them exclaimed over each other, one looking abhorred and the other extremely worried.

"Your colon cancer has metastasized to your heart. Talk to this guy" House indicated Wilson, "about it."

"But, how could you know?" A deathly paleness had spread over the patients face.

"I know. Believe me." House looked away. Being the jerk he was, he never _liked_ telling people that they were dying. He only ever did so to get his job done or avoid patients from making stupid decisions that _would_ cost them their lives.

"I'll be making another appointment for tomorrow, Dr. Wilson. That will be alright, right?" The man was wary, as if expecting another death sentence at any moment.

"Yeah, sure. Talk to my secretary. I'll see you tomorrow." Wilson's hand was on his forehead, as if trying to get rid a headache, which he mostly likely did have now, thanks to House.

"See you." With that, the patient left, leaving House and Wilson alone in the office. Wilson started filling out some paperwork while House fiddled with some cushions on the couch. Both were waiting for the other one to talk first.

Fortunately for Wilson, House was much more impatient.

"That Logan guy is a complete asshole."

Wilson exploded, "Why did you have to go and do that, House?" House was taken aback by Wilson's harsh tone.

"What are you talking about?" House, of course, already knew what Wilson was referring to, but still was trying to avert blame from himself.

"That patient!" Wilson was being ruthless in his escapades, obviously frustrated. "It's bad enough that his wife died in a car accident last year. And here you go telling him he also has heart cancer as if it's just a weather report!"

"Well, I'm right, aren't I?" house was getting heated now as well. He wasn't one to back down from battle.

"I don't know right now House! He hadn't presented any symptoms—"

"His slow movements and fatigue isn't just from the depression of losing his wife. Shortness of breath and the chest pain indicates heart cancer."

"When did he tell you about any chest pain?"

"Doesn't have to." House explained. "Whatever news you had just given him probably would give him grief, but seeing as you're the world's best doc for delivering bad news the hand placement is more likely a sign of pain. House stopped and thought for a second before continuing. "He has _heart_ cancer. It's ironic, isn't it?"

Wilson couldn't believe that he hadn't picked up on any of the signs. Of course, House was House and could pick up the most relevantly irrelevant details, but oncology was Wilson's thing. He should have picked up on any symptoms that were common in cancer patients. The best thing now was for Wilson to just drop the conversation so that he didn't continue to feel even guiltier.

"That Logan guy is a complete asshole."

"I heard you the first seven times before that, House!" Wilson didn't want to deal with House's whining. He had bigger and better things to worry about than House's anxiety over Cuddy's new date.

"I only told you three times before that, Wilson. Haven't you learned to count?" House saw the glare in Wilson's eyes that could have made a small child cry. "Though it would make sense..."

Without saying a word, Wilson emerged from his chair and stormed out of his office. He didn't care about House. He didn't care about Logan. He didn't even care about that patient that was going to be dead in a year. He just needed to get out of his office and away from everything and everyone. He was done.

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Back in Wilson's office, House made his way over to the couch and sat down, letting out a sigh.

"Wow." House said aloud. In all his years in his friendship with Wilson, he had only seen him blow up like that a few times and never to that extent. However, with House, the actions of Wilson didn't bring out sympathy in House, but rather curiosity. Something else besides just House's antics was setting him off, putting him on edge.

A flare of shooting pain in his leg, probably stemming from his run in at the elevator earlier, interrupted House's thoughts. House had recognized the man from somewhere, but couldn't quite remember where. He was good with diseases and treatments, not with remembering names or where people came from, unless it was important.

And wherever House had seen the face of the man at the elevator, he wasn't important at that time.

House couldn't stay on Wilson's couch forever and if Wilson came back, he probably wouldn't want to see House sitting there anyway. House opened up his little orange vicodin bottle and popped two pills before setting his cane firmly on the ground to get up.

House snitched a few peanuts from the bowl on the coffee table as he made his way to the office door. Out in the hallway, the intercom was signaling the end of a shift. House looked at his watch: just after five. His patient was in surgery right now and House could use a status update.

Going into his office, Foreman was at the conference table reading a medical journal. Some files for future potential cases were strewn over the glass.

"How's the patient?" House addressed Foreman, who looked up from his journal.

"Nothing's out of the ordinary. Patient's stable and going strong. Should be done in an hour or so." Foreman looked back to his journal.

House picked up one of the files on the table. "Anything interesting in the case department?" House looked in on the file he was holding. _Stomach problems, blurry vision, Frequent heart burn. _

"Nope." Foreman was trying really hard to ignore House. Just then, though, something sparked Foreman's memory. "Cameron said something about an elevator and you being on the ground?"

Of course Cameron would open her mouth about that. "My hooker got fed up. Had to teach me a few lessons." House deflected as usual, using offence for defense.

"She said a nurse told her that some guy ran into you full speed." It was Foreman's turn to look up at House. "What's up with that?"

"Dunno," replied House. Foreman continued to go on about what he had heard from Cameron, but House was disinterested. He thought back to Cuddy and the complete asshole that was with her.

"House!"

"What?"

"Are you even listening to me?"

"No." As Foreman decided to give up on pressing House, which gave House the opportunity to continue on with his thoughts about Cuddy and Logan.

House really did not like that guy.

**Reviews + Time = Updates! You can help me with one of those! **


	3. Chapter 3

**Okay, I lied. A lot of different characters will have the privilege of the point of view in this story. I hope you're enjoying this story as much as I am. Just to let you know, I'm starting to move onto the plot lines for the story in this chapter. It's going to be a bumpy ride! I'm not exactly sure where things are going to end up, but we'll get there eventually. **

**Also, I'm looking for a beta for this story. I know I could go look for one, but I want someone who already had an invested interest. Please let me know through PM! Thanks!**

House didn't feel like looking though any more of the files. If Foreman said that there was nothing that would interest _him_, then there was certainly nothing that would interest House.

His official work hours were over. Now House just had to wait until his patient was out of surgery so that he wouldn't need to rush back to the hospital if there were any complications. House just had to waste time now. He could go back down to the clinic... Yeah, right.

So, instead of helping in the clinic or wallowing in his hatred for Logan, House thought of something much more constructive to do: playing his gameboy.

But even the epic adventures of Mario and Luigi couldn't keep House's mind from straying into the realm of Cuddy's new love life. Well, at least her new boy toy. House had known what the guy was the minute he saw Logan enter the hospital, heading towards Cuddy's office. The man had a certain air of smugness around him: a sense invulnerability that House had never taken to with anyone. The guy needed to be taken down a few notches.

It had been around an hour since House had left Cuddy' office and his run in at the elevators. He wondered if Logan was in there right now with her, telling her how beautiful she was, being all slick and suave as he told her where he would take her that night...

But why should House care? She was just his boss, anyway. She could do whatever she wanted to do with her personal life. He wasn't any part of it. His job was just to make sure that her work life was miserable, or maybe... he did it to do just the opposite. House really had no idea.

And that circumstance was surprisingly new for House.

But maybe he did know. He had always known, but he had buried any feelings regarding him and Cuddy many years ago. The layer of silt on top of them was so deep, House couldn't know where to start digging.

So he never tried.

The best thing for House now, as he had done throughout his entire life, was to forget and move on with his life. He couldn't hold himself back, because he would be taking everyone else with him.

This little bit of truth was all that House was able to admit to himself.

But no matter how hard House tried to bury these thoughts all over again, he couldn't. Ideas of Logan and Cuddy kept mercilessly pervading his mind: of them getting married, having kids, being successful. All while House, slowly and endlessly, simmered in his own misery.

House's watched beeped, signaling the turn of the hour. He couldn't sit in his office anymore, his own mind crushing him. If his patient's operation took a turn for the worse, House, at this very moment, couldn't care less.

Foreman was still sitting in one of the chairs at the conference table. He noticed as House gimped out of the office at an unusually quick pace, but didn't think to say anything. Instead, he looked back to his medical journal, a study on sociopathology.

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Cuddy and Logan both watched as House was about to turn and leave the office. Suddenly, though, he turned, giving Logan a stone cold glare. He opened his mouth to say something to him.

"Logan?" asked House, antipathy tinting his tone.

"Yes?" Logan replied, interest, as well as a slight nervousness, coming through his voice, which was slightly lower than House's. He cursed himself when he heard it shake a little bit. He didn't want to give House a heads up in the least.

"You better be careful." Cuddy watched as House left without waiting for an answer, shutting the door behind him with more force than was really needed. Cuddy flinched a bit at the loud clash. She ran a hand through her hair, stressed.

"One minute, Lisa, I need to make a quick phone call." Logan didn't wait for Cuddy's approval. Instead, he reached into the pocket of his suit pants. He pulled out his blackberry, punching in a phone number. He quickly turned away from Cuddy, obviously not wanting her to hear the cell phone conversation.

Cuddy couldn't have heard the complete conversation if she tried. And she did try, being a person who wanted to know details and make conclusions from them. It was the reason why she was so good at her job.

The few spare words she could make out were 'run in,' 'sports jacket' and 'right away.' Cuddy guessed that he probably just wanted to spend more time with her and was calling someone to run an errand for him.

As Logan pressed the button to end the conversation, Cuddy promptly turned away in his desk chair, appearing to be working on some paperwork that needed signing. She didn't want Logan to know that she had been eavesdropping. Her acting seemed to do the job as Logan appeared to be entirely convinced.

"Sorry about that," Logan explained. "Just had to set something straight before it got too out of hand." Logan fiddled with the collar on his suit jacket, making sure it was straight and unwrinkled. A button on his button-up shirt was sticking out and he made sure that it was in place.

"Some errand you needed done?" Cuddy asked, trying to get some sort of true answer out of Logan. "Dry cleaning?" This was some sort of test on the part of Cuddy. She really wanted to Logan to pass it too. If she couldn't trust him, she couldn't be with him.

"Yeah," Logan was now fiddling with the cuffs of his shirt. "Something like that." Cuddy picked up on the way Logan maneuvered his way around the direct question. He was hiding something; Cuddy was completely sure of it. However, whatever it was, she could not even begin to guess.

But she didn't want to push it and Logan to find out that she had been listening in on his conversation. An awkward silence pervaded the entire office. The two might have already been dating for a few weeks, but they weren't just yet at the "comfortable" stage.

Logan hadn't stayed the night once yet, had never offered to make a fire, hadn't even offered for Cuddy to come over at his place. They would always end up going to hers. He always made up excuses if she ever asked to go over to his: 'my home's a mess,' 'I just got the floors waxed,' I just dropped an entire gallon of gasoline in my garage so it stinks."

Granted, these could all be seen as relevant excuses, but _every_ single time Cuddy asked, that's all it was: an excuse. Cuddy had dealt with enough high-powered individuals that she knew when something fishy or sneaky was up. Whether she was dealing with potential donors or with board members, Cuddy could see the truth. She was nearly as good at being an administrator as House was a diagnostician.

Logan took the initial chance and started talking, "So what's the deal with that Dr. House?" Logan had a suspicious look, directed towards Cuddy, on his face. "He seems to be quite the... _character_."

Why did Logan want to know about House? "He's just House. He's... the head of the Department of Diagnostics—"

"Why don't you just fire him?" Logan interrupted. "He seems like arrogant bastard who has no respect for your authority." He paused. "For _any_ authority."

Cuddy stood up from behind her desk, moving over towards Logan, however still remaining at least three feet away. "He's the best doctor we have." Cuddy gave the practiced response to the question she heard on a regular basis from anyone who was new to the inner workings of her hospital. It was an answer that she knew she could use in any circumstance and the discussion of the infamous doctor would end. At least, until now...

"He makes you miserable, Lisa." Logan had an unconvinced expression on his face, as if to say 'really?' "Sometimes, I don't really understand the way you do things around here."

"It's my hospital, Logan. I run things just the way I like them," retorted Cuddy, putting on her professional front, the power suits she wore every day doing their job. "I have no problems dealing with Dr. House. He understands which lines not to cross. And just to let you know, Dr. House _does _listen to my authority." Cuddy moved another foot closer to Logan.

Logan stood his ground, facing Cuddy, though his eyes widened a bit at her sudden movement. "I'm just saying, Lisa, if he was an employee in my company, I would have gotten rid of him ages ago."

"Then let's just be glad that he isn't an employee at _your _company." Cuddy backed off after giving Logan a subtle glare. She moved back behind her desk, pushing a stray bang back behind her ear. She picked up a budget report from the cardiology wing. Some doctor was hoping for some new equipment since the last version had died out a couple of weeks ago and they were currently using a spare that didn't work as well.

"Yeah, let's just be glad." Logan turned to leave the room. However, the lilies were still in his hands. Before completely disappearing outside the office, he dropped them off on the coffee table by the couch. He watched as one of them missed and fell off the table and onto the ground. "I'll call you tonight after I finish up some work at my office. I have a few spare things to deal with."

He left without saying goodbye and without picking the stray flower up off the floor.

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Wilson was working in the clinic, hoping to get his mind off of his dying patients and off of House. In his outburst earlier he thought all of them could just go to hell, but such thoughts weren't truly in his character.

He cared about those people. He wanted to make sure that people were healthy and happy. He would never just give it all up because he was having a bad day.

And _today_ was a _bad_ day. He'd already had a long-term cancer patient die that afternoon, before House had barged into his office. That patient had been a young woman, in her early thirties. She had had a melanoma that had reached stage four.

It had metastasized to her brain and she hadn't even known who she was when she died only six months after diagnosis. Her family had been with her the entire time: her parents, a husband, and a six-year-old daughter. But as she died, there was no light leaving her eyes. It was gone already, many weeks before her last breath left her lungs. Her family cried and Wilson could do nothing but offer a solemn pat on the back or services that offered grief counseling.

But other than that, Wilson was powerless to help. He was good at his job. Sometimes patients even thanked him when he informed them that they were dying. He was just that good. But as good as he was, he still felt lost. Every single death of a patient tore Wilson down just that much more.

"Uh... Doctor?"

Wilson found himself at the counter in the clinic, frozen in space as he appeared to be opening a container of swabs.

"Oh, right..." Wilson moved over to the patient with swab in hands. "Open your mouth." Wilson swabbed the back of the patient's throat, testing for strep. "That's it... Go wait in the waiting room and in about a half an hour, when the results are ready, we'll call you in." He hoped the test wouldn't take that long. It was the end of the day and Wilson just wanted to go home.

The patient stood up and left the room, leaving Wilson alone in _CLINIC ROOM 4. _

And Wilson was just as he seemed at that very moment, _alone_, with only a test swab and a box of plastic gloves for company.

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House limped out of the elevator into the clinic. He hadn't gone down there to help, but had to cross through to make it over to the parking garage and maybe to have a peek into Cuddy's office to see if Mr. Donor was still in there. Hopefully, he wouldn't be stopped by any pesky nurses that needed more helping hands. Still, his plans were halted, but not by any nurse, when he saw his favorite oncologist swapping files at the desk.

He knew Wilson was probably still angry from their confrontation earlier, which gave House the perfect opportunity to dig into the real reasons why Wilson was so upset at the moment. He also needed to ask a very important question.

"Wilson!" House yelled out, catching the younger doctor's attention. But instead of turning to answer House, Wilson snatched up his file and skirted into one of the empty clinic rooms.

House limped as fast as he could into the clinic room. Opening the door, he saw Wilson talking to one of the patients, hoping without hope that House wouldn't follow him into one of the diagnostician's least favorite places.

"Who is this?" asked the middle-aged lady.

"Consult," replied House, turning towards the patient. He looked her up and down, noting the clenches of the fists and a slight wincing as she listened to House talking. "Dr. Wilson!" he said quite loudly, watching the patient's reaction. She jumped and her face contorted in pain. He looked the patient in the eyes. "You have an ear infection, and a pretty bad one at that." He took out his prescription pad, wrote something out onto it, and gave it to the patient. "Ear drops to take away the pain and antibiotics to clear everything all up."

The woman stared at House, incredulous about his diagnosis. "You don't really look like a doctor." Her eyes strayed to his cane.

House rolled his eyes seeing the patient's point of view. "Sure, I can't be because I'm sick myself. Fine, if you want to wait in line again and get _the exact same prescription_ from another doctor, be my guest. Waste your time. Otherwise, leave." He flicked his hand towards the door.

"He's right," said Wilson. The patient picked up the slip of paper and left, giving one last, suspicious glance to House.

"House, did you really have to do that?" asked Wilson, who had watched the entire scene from start to finish.

"Yep," House replied. "I needed to talk to you."

"Patients have never stopped you from doing so before."

"Well, that's usually about Cuddy or a _real_ consult or... I just wanted to mess with you."

"You're not just messing with me right now?"

"Nope. I actually have two things to talk to you about that _actually_ have some meaning behind them. Scary, isn't it?"

"Wow! The great Gregory House is actually going to _talk_ about something."

House rolled his eyes. "I never said anything about talking about _my _problems. Oh! And I lied. One of the things is _related_ to Cuddy." House saw Wilson's interest perk up. "And the other thing is about the great mystery that is James Wilson." House saw Wilson rapidly deflate at that.

Wilson looked at his watch. "Time to go. I have an... uh... appointment." He stood up to leave.

"No you don't." House thought it ironic that the tables were turned. _He_ was the one that wanted to talk while _Wilson_ was the one deflecting about his own problems.

"Yes, I do."

"No, you don't." Wilson sat back down in his chair and threw his hands up in the air, defeated, knowing that House just wouldn't let this go.

"Fine. What about Cuddy?" Wilson thought he would let the easiest thing slide first.

"Well, it's not really Cuddy. More about her new Prince Charming. What did you say he worked as?" House grimaced as he thought about the guy again, with his perfect smile, inching closer towards Cuddy, both physically and emotionally.

"House, I really don't feel comfortable talking to you about this."

"Just let up, Wilson."

"He owns his own company dealing with computer software. Works a lot with the government and other high-powered companies. I don't know anything else besides that."

"I guess I'll just have to look him up later." House studied Wilson, hoping to pick up another clue to Wilson's mood. He was fiddling with his fingers: uncomfortable. He was slumped in his chair: defeated. His hair wasn't as perfectly blow-dried as usual: stressed. House needed to know the reason behind this. "So what about you?"

"Nothing, House. Just leave me alone." Wilson looked away.

"It's not nothing. You—"

The door opened, revealing the kid that Wilson had tested for strep earlier. Wilson thanked the heavens that he was freed from House's grasps.

"House, will you leave?" Wilson looked towards House, who was studying the kid.

"I think I'll wait," House replied.

"The kid has strep." Wilson said. "It's highly con—"

"I know how contagious it is." Still, House got up to leave. No matter how much he wanted to get the truth out of Wilson, that could wait... for now... until he was somewhere that didn't have a contagious person in it. "I'll be over later." House exited the clinic room.

"Bye, House." Wilson said, but House was already out the door.

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**Reviews make the world go round! Without them, we might have a global catastrophe! The fate of the world lies in your hands. **


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N. Hi there! Again, this chapter is three weeks late, but I moved and I didn't have any available internet on my computer in order to update. This chapter starts to pick things up a bit. I'm telling you now that I love to torture characters, House in particular. What that entails, I will tell you not. So, without further ado...**

Chase and Cameron walked into the conference room together, spotting Foreman sitting in his favorite spot, reading his medical journal.

"Hey Foreman, where's House?" asked Chase, walking over to where the coffee machine was. "I haven't seen or talked to him since he told me Henderson was doing our patient's surgery."

"You know, you can refer to our patient by her actual name." said Cameron, rolling her eyes, Chase also rolling his in return.

Foreman couldn't care less about the dispute between his two colleagues. He looked at his watch, noticing the time. "He left probably about half hour ago. Didn't say anything, though. Probably went home." Foreman looked back to his medical journal, reading about high-functioning sociopaths and the effect of neuroleptics on the condition.

"But Janette's still in surgery!" exclaimed Cameron.

"Who?" asked both Chase and Foreman in unison.

"Our patient!" These two men were exacerbating Cameron by this point. Sadly, much of House, the parts that Cameron _didn't_ agree with, had rubbed off on the other two doctors, especially his sarcasm and attitude towards his, or any, patient. "He can't just leave when anything could go wrong at any moment!"

"Calm down, Cameron," replied Chase, adding some capsules of cream and packets of sugar into his coffee. "There is this wonderful invention called a _cell phone_."

Foreman had to agree with Cameron though, "Which House _never_ answers. He probably should have stayed until the patient was out of the doghouse."

"Which will be, like, five minutes from now." Chase sat down at the conference table with his coffee, picking up his crossword puzzle from earlier in the day. He saw Cameron glaring at him. "Do you want me to call him or something and tell him to come back? Though, something tells me that he wouldn't like that terribly much."

Cameron crossed her arms. As much as she didn't agree with House's actions, she had no intent to interrupt whatever he was doing now. The wrath that she would face from House after _those_ actions were worse than anything that could happen to her patient at this point, though she would never admit that openly.

Cameron was about to reply when her pager beeped, sending her a message. She looked at it, taking a moment to read what it said. "Guess not. Janette's coming out of surgery right now, anyways. She's going into recovery."

Chase took a sip of his coffee. "Ah... I guess that solves that, now, doesn't it?" He remained in his chair, taking small sips from his coffee while trying to solve his crossword puzzle. "That was one quick case, though, wasn't it? Just one day?" 

Foreman responded, "Yeah, I guess some cases are just like that. In and out. Good thing is, is that it doesn't make us stay here throughout all hours of the night."

"Well, I'm just glad that Janette's getting better." Cameron walked over to the computer in the conference room, deciding to check on House's mail. She didn't feel like leaving just yet, just in case something else happened with their patient. Nothing should, but she just wanted to make sure.

"Well, I'm heading out." Foreman closed his medical journal, stood up, and walked out of the conference room, no doubt heading towards the locker rooms to grab his coat.

Chase watched Foreman leave. He returned to his work on his word game. Silence enveloped the room until Chase laid down his pencil, addressing Cameron.

"Are you going to stay for awhile? I was thinking about leaving as well," he asked. Cameron didn't look up, eyes glued onto the computer screen. "Unless you wanted to come home with me?"

Cameron still didn't look up, remaining silent.

"Well, I think I'll just go then. See you tomorrow." Chase left his crossword puzzle on the glass table, though he picked up his coffee. After taking a final gulp of his now pleasantly-warm coffee, he tossed the cup into the sink, rinsing it out to purge it of any remaining scum.

As Chase opened the door to exit the conference room, he heard a solitary "bye." He left with a smile on his face, heading out for the locker rooms.

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Crossing the clinic, House peeked through the doors of Cuddy's office, trying to spy any unwelcome guests. At least, guests that _he_ thought were unwelcome. To his relief, he could see Cuddy, by herself, just finishing up some paperwork, probably some budget reviews that he couldn't care less about.

The blinds were still open, so she wasn't too completely absorbed right now: the perfect opportunity for House to barge in. The clinic wasn't too full either, seeing as it was nearly 6:30. The clinic was no longer accepting new files, but a few people were still sitting in the waiting area. The nurses wouldn't bother him now.

House walked over to Cuddy's door, a little bit slower than usual, his leg still sending shocks all the way up to his hip and down to his knee. Falling down, though he hadn't actually landed on the leg, put on extra stress that his remaining muscles couldn't handle and were now punishing him for.

The secretary, whatever her name was, wasn't there. He guessed today must have been his lucky day. However, as House was about to enter, he saw Cuddy was actually on the phone, smiling. Laughing.

On the turn of a heel, his left, House limped straight in the other direction, towards the elevators. He had parked in the garage because of the snowfall that had been predicted for the evening.

Making his way to his old beater, House prayed, to a God he didn't believe in, that it would start. The parking garage was cold, not too cold, but the car could still be a problem if it was being finicky. Unlocking the door, House stepped into the car with haste, tossing his cane into the passenger seat. He wanted to leave the hospital as quickly as he could, to be anywhere but there.

The key was placed into the slot. As House turned it, the engine groaned loudly and came on, on the first try, no less. House pulled out into the street. Luckily, the roads were clear, shoveled and with salt spread out, turning the fresh snow dark on the sides.

He pulled in to the parking lot of _Sherry's_. It was a little bit out of the way from the hospital, but close to his apartment. Stepping out and locking the door of his car, House walked towards the bar. It was snowing pretty hard now and by the time House opened the door, his hair and jacket were covered in the fluffy powder. Someone walking up besides him pulled the door open for him in a polite manner, but House didn't say anything, instead walking inside and towards the bar, sitting down in one of the stools.

"What's your poison?"

"Single scotch. On the rocks." The bartender, a tall, burly looking man with a bald head, then proceeded to fill a glass with House's drink, the cool, amber liquid aptly flowing into the beaker. The man set it right in front of House, and then started to look at his watch.

Thoughts of Cuddy permeated House's mind. He realized that it could have been anyone who was talking to her on the phone, but his thoughts jumped to the worst, and most likely inevitably, conclusion. She was talking to _him_. Logan.

And not only talking, but _laughing_. House hadn't seen her laugh like that in ages. At least, nowhere in his presence. She was always the hard, polished administrator: A sleek diamond carved and buffed to perfection, revealing all the inner luster and beauty.

But House would never admit that to anybody. He hardly admitted it to _himself_.

_It's not like I _like_ her_. House thought to himself. _I just don't want anybody else to_. And House wondered, was that the true reason, or was it just an excuse? Well, the woman did have one hell of a body. He didn't want anybody else to have that. He couldn't stand the thought of it.

Then there was that night all those years ago, when he was finishing up med school and she was just an undergrad. If he could just forget about _that, _Cuddy would just be another boss, something to look at whenever he was bored. _Like a nice piece of art!_

But, of course, things could never be that simple.

House sat on his stool, swiveling back and forth ever so slightly, thoughts running rampant through his head. He hadn't even touched his drink, though someone beside him was letting the glasses pile up, some inching there way into House's vicinity.

Even though he didn't feel like drinking, really, House picked up his glass and drank it in a single swoop. That would be his only one of the evening, at least, until he got home.

But House still sat on his stool, not really thinking about anything that mattered, but trying to keep things that _did _matter out of his head. That was what the alcohol would be for, when he got home, but he didn't want to become completely drunk while out in a bar. House didn't want to have to rely on Wilson to come pick him, and he knew Wilson wouldn't want to be anywhere near him right now due to their earlier conversation.

Looking up, House noticed that the bartenders had switched shifts, the bald man no longer present, replaced with a younger man, no older than 25, with black hair and a short, dark goatee. The new bartender was currently wiping down some bottles of vodka, making sure that they were free from any sort of residue.

House sat up from his stool, picking up his cane from where it had been hooked on the counter. Making sure the cane was firmly in his hands before he took a step, House walked forward with his left foot first in order to establish a steady rhythm to his lopsided gait.

He carried on with his right leg, but the moment he did so, a flash of pain stabbed him, stronger and deeper even than it had been when he had fallen down at the elevator. House, trying to remove all pressure from his mangled thigh, House staggered to the left, hopping a few feet on that foot to regain his balance.

Once he had maintained his version of such, putting all weight on his left leg and leaning against an empty table, House just stood there for awhile, trying to regain control of his breath and heartbeat. Thinking that he had achieved such, he took another tentative step forward with his right foot, leaning heavily on his cane, his knuckles blanching under the pressure. He put hardly any weight on the offending limb.

Luckily, only smaller jolts of pain stabbed him, a small pocketknife compared to the chainsaw that he felt had assaulted his leg earlier. His heavy limp exaggerated his uneven balance though, causing him to stumble with every step.

To anybody looking in, it seemed obvious that an older man with the can had had a few too many drinks, and the alcohol in his system was causing uneven balance. The bartender was thinking just so.

"Hey! You with the cane!" called the bartender. House didn't seem to hear him and carried on with his uneven gate. "Hello there!" House didn't turn back, causing the bartender to take a more direct route. "Gimpy!"

"Shut the fuck up." House replied at the bartender's last remark, though his maintained his slow pace towards the exit. He didn't want to deal with this. He didn't want to attract the attention of the few patrons that currently inhabited the small, poorly lit bar. He just wanted to go home and tend to the increasing throbbing of his disfigured thigh.

Unfortunately for House, nearly everybody had seen his little tumble and was now watching the current seen with zealous attention.

"Give me your keys. You're not leaving like that." The bartender held out his hand, though he remained behind the safety of the counter. He knew what angry drunks could do, especially if it involved a hard, solid cane.

"I'm not drunk." House stopped and turned around to meet the eyes of the bartender. Still rickety, he leaned against a chair that was fortunately placed just to his left.

The bartender looked down at the counter, spying the multitude of glasses that were littering House's previous counter space. House followed his gaze and saw the cups that had been the home of whiskey, the preferred drink of his bar neighbor.

"Those weren't mine. I told you, I'm not drunk." House moved as if to turn to walk away, rolling his eyes, but the bartender was persistent. Way too persistent for House's liking.

"Tom said that you were here for awhile and to watch your intake. I watched you down that last scotch of yours. Pretty sure it wasn't the first one." The bartender had his knuckles set on the counter, leaning forward towards House's direction, a small smirk cresting his lips.

The bartender was toying with him. House was sure of it. "Exactly. I had a _scotch. _Emphasize the singular antecedent. If you'd be so kind as to check all of those empty glasses, it's whiskey." House leaned his full weight against the wall as the bartender turned to look into the empty glass. He dipped his finger until the glass and tasted it. It was definitely _not_ scotch and most certainly _was_ whiskey.

However, the bartender didn't want to damage his reputation among the other customers. If they thought that he would relent to a bit of back talk, then he wouldn't be able to control anybody who tried to leave drunk. He couldn't have that.

"I'm telling you to give me your keys."

But House could see what the bartender was doing. He had seen it many times before with other people who were just trying to protect themselves. There always were some telltale signs, and the bartender had fallen right into the pattern: a slight hesitation, House could basically see the scheming thoughts passing through the idiot's mind.

And the bartender was just that, an idiot, a bit of an ass, too. Basically, he was someone who House just didn't feel like wasting his time for. He could explain that his loss of balance was due to his leg, but he didn't want to the bartender, or anybody else for that matter, to use it against him. So, instead of confronting the man, he just started to walk away, albeit as his slow, lumbering pace.

But as House reached out his hand to open the door, he felt a hand on his shoulder, turning him around. Swerving around, House stood and faced the bartender. His first instinct was to give the man a hard stab with his cane, but didn't want to risk losing his balance, again. As an alternative, he used his most lethal weapon: his tongue.

"Is there anything better for you to do than bother a cripple?" The bartender removed his hand from House's shoulder. House looked around the bar, spotting a young kid in his early twenties, watching the entire scene. "You!" He pointed to the kid. "Up here!"

The kid hesitatingly rose out of his seat. "Uh... yeah?"

"Do I look drunk to you?"

"I don't know, sir." The kid was shifting uneasily, looking down at the ground instead of at House.

"Pupils constricted?"

"Um..." The kid looked at House's eyes. "No."

"Speech slurred?"

"Not that I can tell."

"So... I'm perfectly sober because I only had _one_ drink."

"I guess so. Can I go now?

House nodded and turned back to the bartender, his eyes questioning. However, the bartender was just looking increasingly annoyed, agitated even.

Mocking the kid that he had just dismissed, "Can I go now?"

"I still don't think I should let someone, in your current state, drive."

"Trust me, I'm a doctor." House replied his gritted teeth, accompanied by a sneer. House put his hand back onto the handle of the door and leaned in to push it open. He rolled his eyes when he heard the bartender start to talk again.

"I'm not letting you leave."

"Why the hell not?" House shouted, greatly annoyed. His leg was killing him from standing for so long.

"Well," that bartender paused, "Either you usually hold your alcohol very well and that stumble of yours was just a small slip-up or... you're," the bartender stopped, thinking of how to label House's disability, "leg... is causing you too much pain to drive. Either way, you're not fit to be driving."

"I'm fine. Thanks."

"You're not leaving with your keys. We can do this the easy way or the hard way." The bartender was looking straight into House's eyes. House stared back, unrelenting. The other patrons were keenly watching the entire ordeal, guessing who was going to back down first, although nobody volunteered to aid either side of the conflict.

"I think we decided where this was going a _long_ time ago." House didn't break eye contact. His tone was challenging, prompting the bartender to make the next move.

"I'm calling a cab or the police. You're choice." The tone of the bartender was as challenging as House's, tinged with cold contempt.

House could never back down from a battle, even if he wasn't sure he could win. "Right. Hide behind the power of the officials. Let me guess. PolySci major?"

The bartender looked stunned. "How... could... you?"

"Smart, though not smart enough to be a lawyer or a doctor. The obvious smugness." House rolled his eyes to emphasize the point. "Won't take no for an answer to the point of sounding like an ignorant and arrogant bastard. You're really, _really_ annoying. The political pin is also blatantly obvious." House pointed to the pin on the bartender's apron opting for some senator. "Can't find a job that would actually make your four years of college actually _useful_. _And_ you want others to do all the dirty work for you."

The bartender was growingly steadily angrier and angrier as House went on. His bottom lip was quivering. His eyes were becoming narrower by the second. When House was done with his keen observations, he knew he had won.

"Still think I'm drunk? Pain clouding my judgment?" Venom laced House's words. He'd been standing for far too long by now and his leg was screaming at him, threatening to spasm.

Now, it was the bartender's turn to turn away. His brows were furrowed, his fists clenched tight, his teeth gritted against each other. The one thing he hated most was losing. And he had lost.

"I think I'll be going now," House said lightly, even though he was fighting the urge to whimper in the pain coursing through his ravaged thigh.

He limped, quite pronouncedly, out of the bar, knowing that the other patrons were probably stunned silent by the confrontation. House smirked.

Finally, House sat down in his car, relieved as he took the deadly pressure off of his leg. The inside of the vehicle was cold, the leather stiff, and the wheel nearly frozen. House pulled the keys out of the pocket. He could see his breath in the air, a light mist.

The key slid into the ignition, but no matter how many times House turned it, the engine wouldn't rumble to life.

"Not now." House pleaded. Even though he was off his feet, his thigh was tensing up again do to the chilly air. House groaned, his eyes screwed shut. His hand moved to massage to the damaged limb.

House pulled out his cell phone, but apparently all the luck he'd had when he was at the hospital had left him and the now-useless device was out of batteries. House knew what he had to do, but he didn't like it. Unless...

House peered down the sidewalk and saw a payphone about a block away. _Anything's better than going in to face _that_ idiot again_, House thought. Begrudgingly, he opened the door of the car. The outside air wasn't any colder, but a wind he hadn't noticed when he escaped the bar had picked up.

Setting the cane firmly on the pavement, House struggled down the sidewalk through the heavy snow, almost just dragging his right leg behind him. The night was dark around him. He could hear a dog barking far off in the distance.

Fishing the pockets of his jeans, House pulled out two quarters. He dialed 411 for information.

"Taxi," was all House said into the phone after he heard someone pick up on the other end. He gave his location and was told that a cab would be there to pick him up in about ten minutes. Next, he called the towing service. Apparently, his car couldn't be towed until the next morning, once the snow had stopped and the road was safer for the large, lumbering tow truck to maneuver.

House hung up and started to head back to his car. Even if the heat wouldn't start, he would be out of the snow and wind. However, down a neighboring alley, about fifteen feet away, House heard something bang, softly. House ignored it. Probably just a cat or something. But then he heard it again, accompanied a few seconds later by a much louder crash.

Even though all House wanted to do was go home, his curiosity overrode the pain. He limped down the alley, darkness surrounding him fully. The bangs got louder, as if something _or someone_ was fighting. House could start hearing voices.

Eventually, House found himself below a metal staircase. By all common sense, House knew he should have turned around, gone to his car, and waited for the taxi. But now, his interest was sparked. So, he ignored the little voice telling him to leave and fought his way of the staircase.

At the second floor, House was panting with the effort of scaling the stairs. But he silences his heavy breath, trying to prevent himself from being found out.

He could hear a voice behind the closed blinds. It was angry, heated. If words could kill, this guy would have been labeled an assassin:

"Burkes isn't going to like this. Remember: You say one word about _anything_ to _anyone_ and he will personally slit your throat. I wish I could have the privilege, but he's got dibs."

"Yes... Sir."

**A/N. Yay! My first real cliffhanger. So... what do you think? What has House gotten himself into now?**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N **** I'm back! And ready to rumble! Sorry for not updating a long time. I just moved 1880 miles across the country and started at a new school, so you can imagine how crazy my life has been for the last 4 weeks. This chapter gets exciting!**

At quarter to six, Cuddy was sitting in her office, finishing up some paperwork, and keeping her mind on doing just that. At least, she was trying. With her thoughts running rampant all across the board, she was much relieved when her telephone rang. _That_ should give her a moment's reprieve from the bombardment of emotions she was currently experiencing. Taking a deep breath and clearing her head, Cuddy picked up the phone and pressed it to her ear.

"Doctor Lisa Cuddy, Dean of Medicine and Hospital administrator, Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital." There was a pause at the other end. Cuddy could hear the breathing. She almost put the receiver down when...

"_Lisa?_"

It was a woman's voice. Cuddy knew she recognized it, but couldn't quite pinpoint it.

"This is she." Cuddy furrowed her brow, curious.

"It's Marsha!" An excited voice, full of enthusiasm and bubbly personality filtered through the headset. Cuddy had to pull the phone away from her slightly to save from eardrums from being assaulted.

Cuddy quickly realized who the owner of the voice was.

"Marsha Delaney?" A memory flashed through Cuddy's mind. It was her sophomore year as an undergrad at Michigan. She was in her dorm, with her roommate, a girl with a personality as fiery as her bright-red hair. They were sitting on Cuddy's bed, talking about school and clothes and, inevitably, boys.

She hadn't seen the young woman since her undergrad graduation. She hardly ever thought back to her years as an undergrad, let alone her roommate. She'd lost her friend's number a long time ago and had never thought to check back in again.

"_Yes! From Michigan! Oh, Lisa, I've been dying to call you for ages_!" The woman was just as eccentric as Cuddy had remembered her.

Cuddy felt compelled to say something as well, "Really? I've been thinking... a lot... about—"

"But you must have moved. I couldn't find any sort of number or anything!" Cuddy was cut off by the speaker on the other end. Apparently, Marsha was also just as unintentionally rude as Cuddy remembered her.

"_But then I saw this article about you being the dean of Medicine at some hospital_."

"Princeton Plains—"

"_And I thought, why not give her a call_!" Cuddy couldn't get a word in edgewise, as Marsha unwittingly sailed right over everything that Cuddy said.

"_We haven't talked since college_."

"My parents had moved to—" Cuddy was cut off, again. This time, however, she gave and decided to go along with the ride.

"_And it's been so long. We always promised to call remember. Our lives have changed so much since College. You remember how I always wanted to live on the beach? Take this: Cape Cod! God, I love it, Lisa. I truly do love it. And I'm an orthopedist at Falmouth. Oh, and you'll love Riley! He's eight years old and the biggest bucket of joy you'll ever meet! But less about me, what about you? You became an endocrinologist before becoming the dean, right? I'm dying to hear what you've been up to."_

Marsha hadn't changed since college.

Lisa Cuddy was glad that she was having a phone call right now, instead of a face-to-face conversation. If she hadn't been on the phone, Marsha would have seen the truly resentful countenance of Cuddy's face. It wasn't that she wasn't happy for Marsha. She was, right?

Cuddy did her best at keeping up appearances. "Oh, you know, lots of work here at the hospital," an image of House flashed through her mind. "I'm living in Princeton, as you probably guessed. I'm really busy, though." There was an awkward silence over the telephone.

"_Any family? I know how you always talked about wanting kids when you were older. Come on, don't be shy!"_ If there was such a thing as subtlety, Marsha had never heard of it.

Cuddy thought of House first, though she didn't quite know why. Then the image of Logan came across her mind.

"No, not really," Cuddy admitted.

"_Not _really? _Lisa, you have to do better than that. I spent four years of collage putting up with you, remember?"_

Because, of course, _Marsha_ was the one putting up with _Cuddy_. Cuddy didn't feel comfortable with this conversation. She hadn't even spoken to the woman is over ten years! She didn't appreciate being put on the spot like this, but when Marsha wanted details, she got details.

"Well, I've been seeing this one guy. His name is Logan." Cuddy was willing to leave the subject at that, but Marsha kept on digging for more.

"_And?"_

"I don't know. I met him a few weeks ago," Cuddy paused, becoming more and more uneasy as phone call continued. "Do we really have to talk about this? It's been so long and—"

"_Lisa Cuddy, I did not spend four years of college with you for you to hide this kind of information! We used to talk like this all the time_!" Marsha kept pressing for more and more information, ignorant of Cuddy's discomfort.

"Fine, okay, okay! He's a donor for the hospital and he's really good looking and has a lot of money," Cuddy had to think about further ways to describe Logan, "and wears these _really_ expensive suits and—"

"_Lisa, stop." _Cuddy stopped rambling. "_During that entire spiel of yours I only heard _what _this Logan guy is and not _who _he is_. _What kind of guy is he? Is he nice? Funny? Does he hold your hand in the moonlight? Make you fires on a snowy and wintry day?"_

"He... uh..."

Cuddy stopped to think. Logan was...? He was nice, mostly. Right? He wasn't the kind to make jokes. Never had they ever walked in the moonlight. Had he ever even held her hand? Did she even have any wood for a fire?

"_Are you okay, Lisa?" _Marsha's tone was oddly comforting and sincere.

"Of course!" Cuddy defended herself. However, all of a sudden, she remembered why she liked this other woman so much. She could be dense or rude or politically correct, but she never had she judged anybody. All Marsha wanted to do was make sure that everyone around her was happy.

"_Lisa?" _Marsha was expecting the truth out of her friend, not an excuse, and her tone told it all. Cuddy couldn't lie.

"Well, I guess he's just a bit... distant. Don't get me wrong, he can be really sweet and considerate. It's just that..." Cuddy trailed off. She couldn't quite pinpoint the reason why she felt the way she did about Logan. She really did enjoy his company... when she was able to have it.

"_Lisa, I understand completely." _

"Really? Thanks, I guess," Cuddy said softly. She found herself warming up to her long-lost roommate.

"_You always were the unpredictable one, the one with all the problems, especially with boyfriends."_ Marsha changed the subject and Cuddy, being grateful for it, decided to play along. It was as if it was ten years ago and nothing had ever changed. They were just two girls talking on the phone.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Cuddy affected a mock-offended tone. She could see where this was going.

"_Who was the one always picking you up off the floor after all those crazy parties?" _

"I don't know what you're talking about." Lisa now had a smile on her face. She liked reminiscing about past times and college had been fun. What was the harm of making fun of herself every once in a while?

"_I believe the nickname of choice for you was... oh, can I remember... PartyPants? Believe me, Lisa, it wasn't unwarranted as a nickname." _

"I don't remember that nickname." Of course, she did, but she wasn't going to let Marsha win so easily at this game.

"_And you do remember that _gorgeous_ specimen of a man that gave it to you, right?"_

"Marsha, I don't even remember the nickname." But Cuddy knew exactly who he was. She also remembered exactly time and circumstance and which it had been given to her. A memory played itself out in Cuddy's mind, of her in her freshman at Michigan, handing her syllabus to the man behind the counter. She was an overachiever. She had something to prove. But she was one-hell of a partier. Cuddy could almost feel the very same heat that had filled her cheeks on that day, now.

"_Come on, Lisa. I know you remember. How is it possible _not _to remember the great Gregory House._"

"Yes, he is very, _very_ hard to forget." Cuddy was smiling like a fool at this point, talking about a time when she didn't have the great responsibility of a hospital weighing down on her shoulders.

"_I guess it would be hard to forget the first person you slept with."_

"I did _not_ sleep with him!" Cuddy wasn't sounding very convincing. How could she, with the smile plastered across her face?

"_Lisa, you two stumbled into our dorm room, making out, as you were pulling off his shirt. You only left after I told you three times that I was in the room. By that point he already had you in just your bra."_

"How do you even remember all that, Marsha?" Cuddy asked. She was starting to giggle.

"_Lisa, How could I _not _remember all that?"_

Without warning, Cuddy was laughing out loud. It wasn't even that good of a joke, but Cuddy continued on laughing: at Marsha, at herself, of her own stupidity as young adult. All the stress that she had been feeling about her relationship with Logan and House just fizzled out as she let herself go.

About to collect herself, she looked up and saw House heading towards her office, but just as he was about to put his hand on the handle, he looked up at her and then abruptly turned away, heading in the exact opposite direction. Cuddy stared after him a frown on her face, levity forgotten.

"Hello? _Lisa, are you there?"_

The inquiry from Marsha brought Cuddy out of her trance and back into reality. Cuddy continued to watch House as he disappeared into the elevator.

"Oh, sorry. I must have zoned out. But I think I have to go do something now. I'll call you later, okay?" Cuddy thought she might have heard the ending fragments of a good-bye before she forcefully hung up the phone. Without straightening out her desk, as she usually did without leaving the hospital, she took her jacket off its hook and placed her hat onto her unusually messy hair.

She raced out of her office and to the elevator that would lead to the parking garage. Cuddy swore under her breath, cursing the sluggish nature of the elevator. When the cart finally reached her desired floor, the doors open and Cuddy sped out. Looking left and right, she could see the tail end of House's car pulling out of the garage.

She wanted to chase him down and ask him why he was coming down to her office at this time in the evening, after he had already solved his case and his patient was recovering in the ICU. However, there were two things that stopped her. First of all, it would take her over ten minutes to make her way to her car, which was parked outside on the ground level. By the time she even got in her car, House would be long gone. Second, House would probably deny even coming towards her office, blowing it off with some sort of snide or sarcastic comment about her breasts.

Sighing, Cuddy went back to the elevator, hoping to actually get some paperwork done, and she actually did, going over the budget reviews and various patient files. It was near nine when she left her office, ready to go home.

[H]OUSE [H]OUSE [H]OUSE [H]OUSE [H]OUSE [H]OUSE [H]OUSE

The men in the building continued to say a few spare words, but House didn't hear it. He was too enwrapped in his own thoughts and of all the possible ones to course through House's mind: to run away, call the police, find help, House could only think of one.

_Burkes? As in_ Logan_ Burkes? _House thought. Granted, there could be dozens of 'Burkes' in the entire city of Princeton, but House didn't think of that. He thought of Cuddy and all he knew was that he had stumbled across something big, probably dangerous, and it wasn't a coincidence.

Lost in his reverie, House didn't notice someone coming towards the window. He caught the movement on the blinds, and only then did he realize that he wasn't supposed to be here and that that man was dangerous. In sense of near-panic, something he hadn't felt in a long time, House turned to the staircase and scrambled down as quickly and quietly as a cripple let would let him.

His efforts were not rewarded, however, as the steps were still slick from the freezing rain and another layer of snow on top. When he had struggled up the steps, he had been in no particular hurry and hadn't realized. But as he went down, House was fighting a losing battle. On about the fourth step down, his feet flew out from under him and House went head over heels down the full flight of hard, metal steps.

With a final thud, House was sprawled facedown, feeling the cold, harsh concrete and snow against his skin and smelled the sewer-like stench waft across his nostrils. Even if he had wanted to move, House didn't have the energy or willpower to do so at this particular moment.

It took a second for the pain to reach him, the adrenaline keeping it at bay, but when it finally did, House nearly bit his tongue off trying to keep himself from screaming out.

He never heard the footsteps approaching him or anybody address him, but he did feel himself being kicked and then dragged forward and up by his collar until his back was pressed the hard brick building and every muscle in body was throbbing so much with pain, he couldn't distinguish what hurt most.

[H]OUSE [H]OUSE [H]OUSE [H]OUSE [H]OUSE [H]OUSE [H]OUSE

_A Few Minutes Earlier_

"You did what!" someone said in a deep voice. He was in his early thirties, tall and muscular, with black, buzz-cut hair and a clean-shaved face. That same face was contorted into an ugly expression of mixed anger and worry. His narrow eyes flitted across the room, from a small TV in the corner to a table that was adorned with various papers and documents. His eyes settled on a single enveloped labeled "Cottonwood - Classified Information" just before the other man in the room responded.

The man was older and shorter, his hairline receding and the wrinkles adorning his gaunt face told a tale of a life filled with grief. With a shaky voice he said, "It just happened, Teller—"

Teller went over to a desk and picked up a glass paperweight. He violently threw it across the room, where it hit crashed against the wall, shattering. He bolted up to Crowley so close that their noses almost touched. "We're not friends, Crowley," He spat. "Get that into your head. You don't call me Teller. Not anymore. To you, it's Frain. And I would prefer it, actually, if you didn't try and come up with lame, f***ed-up excuses!" Teller's face was becoming more and more red as his voice rose.

Crowley was feeling greatly uncomfortable at the conversation. He wasn't a confrontational man. "Sorry... uh... Frain. I was working and-"

Backing off a bit, Frain interrupted again. "Ha! You call that _working? _All you do is piss around all day and then mess up the codes when you touch the f***ing computer! Now there's rogue data somewhere out there. We're in deep here, Crowley."

"Teller." Crowley was shot with a deathly stare. "Sorry," he paused, "Frain, there was really nothing I could do." He looked down at his feet. Crowley didn't know what else to say. There really was _nothing_ to say. He had really messed up this time.

"Nothing you could do? Nothing you could do!" Teller exclaimed as he walked over to the opposite wall. A hand came up to forehead and he started to rub his temples. "There's always _something_ you can do. Here, I'll show you."

Teller strode quickly up to Crowley. Without warning, Teller swung a fist at Crowley's face, connecting hard to his nose, blood spurting out of it. Before Crowley could crumple to the ground, Teller grasped onto his collar and held him up, tight. "Do you realize how much you may have truly sunk us, Crowley?" he whispered tersely, right into Crowley's ear. "If anyone gets into that information, we're screwed. We're all going to jail. Me. _You_. You're not hiding from this."

He threw Crowley forcibly to the ground. He stayed there, in a near-fetal position, his eyes scrunched close. After a few seconds, he grunted, "I'm sorry... sir."

Sweat was forming visibly on Teller's temples and his face was flushed. After he cooled down a bit, "You will be. You're as far gone as any of u— "

Teller Frain cut off and looked around the room, left and right, as if he had heard something. He _had_ heard something, but he just couldn't pick out where it had come from. A few moments later, he decided to ignore it. He turned back to Crowley.

"I'm done with you," he paused, thinking. "But Burkes isn't going to like this. Remember: You say one word about _anything_ to _anyone_ and he will personally slit your throat. I wish I could have the privilege, but he's got dibs."

"Yes... Sir."

Teller left Crowley on the ground and sat himself down on the couch. But something nagged him. He could have sworn he had heard... _footsteps_... somewhere. Well, better to be safe than sorry. He stood up.

"Stay there," he grumbled, getting up and walking towards the window.

"Wasn't really planning on going anywhere, Frain," Crowley said breathily, holding his nose, trying to stop the bleeding. He was still on the ground and he hadn't made any motion to change his position, not seeing any reason to. His nose was starting to clear up.

Teller opened the blinds and looked out. He couldn't see anything, but he decided to make sure. Undoing the latch, Teller pushed up on the sliding glass and poked his head outside. Turning to his left, he couldn't see anything, His attention was grasped, however, when he heard a heavy crash come from his right. In the dark, he could make out a figure tumbling hard down the metal steps.

Teller bolted out of the window, vaguely hearing what sounded like "Hey! Where are you going?" come from the direction of Crowley. But he didn't really care. If someone knew about the plan, he would be in even deeper shit than Crowley.

"Hey! You!" He yelled, swiftly making his way down the steps. He could hardly see anything, the clouds were blocking any light from the moon and the falling snow also diminished his sight. He carefully descended the staircase, not wanting to face the same fate as the guy below. At the bottom, Teller saw the heaping mound of a man sprawled out in the snow.

If it weren't for the guy's heavy breathing, Teller would have guessed that he was dead. The man was in pretty bad shape, Teller realized after his eyes adjusted to the darkness. His left arm was set at an awkward angle and Teller saw blood dying the snow dark around the man's forehead.

And Teller couldn't care less. He'd had seen enough guys beaten up much worse than this. It was part of his job description, as he thought of it. He didn't know what this guy knew. If he knew anything at all, well then, it would have to be taken from him, forcibly. The guy wasn't _authorized_ for that sort of information. If it got loose, then everything, _everything_, would be ruined.

Sudden rage coursed through his system and Teller kicked the guy straight in the ribs, hard. The man groaned and made a feeble attempt to turn away. Teller reached down and pulled the guy up from the collar of his jacket. The action took a little more effort than usual, as the guy was tall and heavy, but Teller was also tall, heavier, and stronger.

Teller slammed the intruder up against the brick building. He couldn't exactly make out the guy's face but could see that it was twisted in pain, though his eyes remained closed. Teller felt the overwhelming need to sock the guy in the jaw and leave him in the street. On a cold night like this, he wouldn't last long. Teller smiled at the idea. But there was some uncertainty in that situation. _To bad_, he thought. Teller needed information from this guy and he needed it fast.

Pulling closer to the intruder, "Who are you?" he yelled into the guy's ear. The man didn't respond, but just gritted his teeth together. This time, Teller didn't hold back and undercut the guy, hard, in the gut. The man nearly keeled over, but Teller held him up.

A little softer this time, "I asked, who are you?"

It took a few seconds, but eventually Teller received a response. "Wallet. Front left pocket."

Teller let go of the guy's collar and watched as he crumpled to the ground. Quickly, he frisked the fallen man until he found the desired leather right where it was supposed to be. He couldn't read the ID in the wallet because of the lack of light, so he took the phone out of his pocket and used the light to read it. Then, he saw the picture and the name to go with it.

"Wait, you're that guy at the hospital Logan told me to—" Teller stopped. He wasn't supposed to say his boss' name out loud.

House opened his eyes for the first time at the given name. Thinking made his pounding head hurt even more. Still, he looked up and saw his assailant's face, lit up by the light of the phone. House recognized him. He knew he did. He was the man that had run into him at the elevators earlier.

However, House's new revelation was short lived when he was forced up and against the wall once more. House screwed his eyes shut as a bout of nausea swept over him.

Teller was scared and he hated the feeling. The idea that control was no longer in his hands, that somehow the power was taken out from under him. The best thing he could do now was find out the most information possible. Maybe, that way, he could stop the overwhelming anger that threatened to consume him.

"What did you hear?" Teller yelled straight into House's face, shaking him slightly with each syllable. House could feel the heat of his breath and spit off his tongue. He knew that there was no other option but to respond, and truthfully, at least close to the truth, if he wanted to get out alive.

"Going. To. Like. This." House gasped between each word, finding it harder and harder to breathe. He truly hadn't been there long at all. He knew that he hadn't heard the substantial details of the conversation. Anything that he had heard wasn't too condemning, except that he knew that Logan was involved in something here. He decided that he would be better off if Logan's right-hand man didn't know _all_ the exact details of his knowledge. "I. Was. Looking. For. My. Dog. Thought. It. Might. Have. Come. Up. Here." This was the best excuse House could come up with at the spur of the moment.

"That's it?" questioned Teller.

"Why... Would... I... Lie?" House could sense a darkness closing in around him as it got harder and harder to breathe. He was almost grateful for the reprieve that he would be getting from the pain that engulfed him.

"I can think of a lot reasons. But, I'm choosing to believe you. _For now. _ But if I hear that you said _anything_ to _anyone_, well," Teller paused for effect, "you know the rest, I gather." Teller threw House back to the ground. He pulled out his cell phone again, and House could hear Teller dial, say something, and then snap the phone closed.

House heard footsteps pacing around him and then come straight towards him. The next thing he knew, he felt himself being dragged along in the snow. To where, he didn't know.

**A/N **** Please review, it makes me happy! **


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: So this chapter takes just seconds before the last chapter, but in the point of view of Teller. I started this only 4 days after updating chapter 5, so now you can see how long it takes me to write a chapter. Thus, I continue torturing my favorite character, but hopefully not too much. **

**Disclaimer: Although I would love to, I do not own House, the character or the show. I do own Logan Burkes, Teller Frain, an angry oncology fellow, a bartender modeled after my older brother, a random receptionist, and Nurse Juny though! David Shore can't take them away from me!**

"You know the rest, I gather." Teller could feel the anger nearly overwhelm him. He decided to quench it by throwing his victim down to the ground, hard. The guy, who Logan had earlier told him was named House, looked to be unconscious, his eyes closed as he remained where he had fallen into the snow. Only the shallow rise and fall of his chest gave notice to the fact that he was still alive.

Averting his gaze, Teller flipped open the old, bulky cell phone he used only for work and speed dialed number for Logan. The phone rang a few times and just as Teller thought it was about to go to voicemail, he heard Logan's voice.

"_Logan,"_ was the only greeting, the one that Teller knew he used when being called from a work phone. Everyone working under Logan had received just like it. It was one of those phones that could withstand being put through the digestive track of an elephant and still come out perfectly functional at the other end. Also, it was undetectable from all sorts of tracking devices.

"It's Teller." He and Logan were on a first name basis. The two had met at a computing conference in Delaware nearly a decade ago. Though Logan was a few years senior to Teller, the two had become quick friends and had started their own company, named Code-Frame, and hadn't looked back since.

"_It's near ten, Teller. What the hell is the problem?"_ Logan had seen that Teller had called him using the work phone, and not his personal one, which meant business.

"Just come to the alley behind Office Eleven. I'll tell you when you get here." Teller was strict and succinct when talking into the phone, letting Logan know that he meant business.

"_Normally I would question why."_

"I'll tell you when you get here." Teller hung up his phone. He couldn't have a long and lengthy conversation when he didn't know for a fact that House was unconscious. He went over to the man and saw the cane that was located a few yards away, its shiny wood glistening even in the meager light.

Ignoring the cane, Teller leaned down and grasped House's jacket by the collar. The guy was dead weight, so Teller decided to just drag him through the snow until he was nearly at the street corner. He dropped House to the ground and looked around the corner. About 50 feet down the street, he heard a cab honk its horn in the parking lane of the bar and then watched it turn towards himself. Teller stayed where he was, looking casual. When he cab finally passed him, Teller paid no attention. But if he had looked up, he would have seen that the driver looked absolutely miffed.

Teller was getting cold from waiting outside in the chilly February air. He had left his jacket inside the office when he went to go look outside the window. In the heat of the moment, he hadn't felt cold, but now that he was just waiting, he could feel the icy breeze seeping through his thin shirt.

Teller went over to go check on House, to make sure he was still breathing. He wouldn't be in a good situation if Logan came and House was already dead. Something about Logan didn't like the idea of murder. Nonetheless, he needed to hear Logan's input first before he decided to do anything. He pulled out his iphone, his personal cell phone, and played a few games while he waited.

After waiting for another ten minutes or so, Teller looked up from his game and saw a large Chevy Escalade pulling over onto the street of the alley. He quickly moved over to make sure that his body would block Logan's view from the figure slumped behind him. He watched as Logan shut off the engine, opened the door and got out, shutting the door quietly behind him. He walked calmly over to Teller as if nothing was the matter. He was dressed casually in a pair of slacks and a winter jacket.

However, when he started to speak, his tone, though level, was filled with irritation. "What is it, Teller, that you couldn't tell me over the phone and made me get up off my $10,000 couch and come to this sh*tty dump?" Logan said when he was finally standing with Teller face-to-face. He didn't raise his voice, but he was annoyed.

Teller was wondering how to break the news of House. "Well, you know how I had the meeting with Crowley earlier."

"Did you really force me out here to come tell me how the meeting with Crowley went over?"

"Logan, right now, Crowley's the least of our problems. I think he's still up in the office trying to stop his nose from bleeding." Teller smiled a bit at that notion. "My bad."

Teller was considering just handling the situation on his own by now. However, he knee deep in this dilemma and would need his colleague's help if they were going to solve this problem. He paused, trying to think how to explain his current pickle to Logan.

"So, you dealt Crowley a new one. Whatever." Logan was completely oblivious to what he was to hear next.

"Remember that guy that you told me to trip earlier today?" Teller decided to try to break the news simply, but quickly, like pulling off a band-aid. But underneath that band-aid was left a nasty and festering wound.

"Yeah, House, diagnostician extraordinaire." Logan scoffed, attempting to mock Cuddy with the way she had described the man he had quickly come to loath. "What about him?"

"He's here."

That had grasped Logan's utmost attention. Even though they were along in a dark, concealed alley, he lowered his voice. _"Where is 'here'_?" he asked, tension marking his tone.

Teller moved off the side to reveal the unconscious man collapsed behind him.

"He's unconscious, beat up pretty badly too. I—"

"What happened? Does he know anything?"

"I was about to tell you, Logan. Just listen." Teller didn't back down from Logan. Even though his friend was the boss and image of the company, didn't mean that Teller didn't have equal say in its power.

"I am listening! Go ahead." Logan was fuming at this point but maintained his unconcerned disposition. He kept his gaze of House, noting the dried blood streaming down his forehead and awkward angle of his arm.

"Thanks. Well, I just finishing up with Crowley when I thought I heard something outside of the window. I ignored it the first time, but when I heard it a second time, I went to look. I saw nothing to the left, but when I looked to my right, I saw him tumbling down the staircase. He... uh..."

Teller wondered if he should tell Logan the entire story. His partner had often berated him on his quick temper and inability to focus without becoming angered.

"'He' what, Teller?" Logan was getting impatient at this point and his voice was rising. Teller decided it would be best just to tell him the entire story and deal with the consequences later.

"He was just lying there in the snow and I went down to find out some information. When he wouldn't let up, I kind of had to force it out of him." Teller was working around the point.

"What did you do?" Logan's finely set-up walls of indifference were starting to crumble as his worry and insecurity prevailed. He felt as if his world was falling down around him as Teller told him what had happened. He knew that House said anything, it could be his own personal downfall and the downfall of his company.

"Don't go assuming the worst, Logan. I just shook him up a little. He was already pretty beat up from falling down the staircase, anyway. I just had to... wake him up a little." That was the best explanation that Teller was going to give right now.

"Whatever, I don't really care. What did he say? What does he know?" This was Logan's biggest concern. He couldn't risk any information getting out into the open.

"He told me that all he heard my say was "Isn't going to like this' when I was talking to Crowley. I don't think he heard me say your name. He said he was looking for his dog."

"Teller, the man doesn't own a dog. The son of a bitch can't look after anything but himself. He made up a stupid lie and you believed him! He knows something, Teller. He knows something and it's YOUR GODDAMN FAULT!" Logan was yelling. A dog barked somewhere.

Teller felt his own temper bubbling up again at being reproached, but tried to keep his head level. "Don't go waking up the whole damn neighborhood, Logan."

Logan gritted his teeth, calming himself down. He walked over to House. "Here, give me a hand. Let's put him in the trunk."

"What are you planning to do with him?" asked Teller.

"Well we can't let him go, now can we? _You_ saw to _that_." Logan said as he leaned down on one side of House to pick him up. "Are you going to help, or what?"

Teller looked from left to right as if to see if anyone was approaching. "Fine, I'm coming." He strode over to Logan, who already had an arm looped around House's armpit and leg. Teller went over to the other side and did the same.

As they attempted to lift House from the ground, the unconscious man groaned quietly. Teller nearly dropped him. "Maybe we should just leave him here," he said.

"Yeah, and wait for someone walking along the street to see him." Logan replied. "I know the perfect place to leave him and nobody will ever know what came of Dr. Gregory House." Logan started moving towards the SUV. "Hurry up."

The two were almost to the SUV when they saw a police motorcycle driving down the street towards them. Deciding it would be too conspicuous to put House in the trunk, Logan motioned his head to Teller to indicate to put House in the back seat of the Escalade.

But before they could open the door, the motorcycle pulled over and a policeman dismounted the motorcycle. Logan could see that the man was of average build and height, but couldn't distinguish any facial features between the dim lighting from the street lamps and the helmet that the policeman was wearing.

"I'm Officer Trent. Is a problem here? Does your friend need some help?" The officer indicated towards House. However, he didn't seem too concerned at this point.

Teller looked away while Logan spoke nonchalantly to the officer. "You see that bar about a block down?" Logan pointed to the place he was talking about. "Well, apparently, our friend here did too." The police chuckled a bit. "We just came to come pick him up and take him home when we saw him stumbling down the street. It was a SIGHT to see. But, what are friends for, anyway?"

"I guess so. You're sure your friend's okay, though?"

"Besides the massive hangover he'll have tomorrow morning, I'm pretty sure he'll be alright." Logan smiled at the officer and removed his hand from House's leg to shake the hand that was offered. .

"Will you please just lift his head up for a minute, boys?" Officer Trent asked.

"No problem," said Logan. He lifted House's head harshly for Officer Trent to see. House groaned at the sudden movement.

"How'd he get that nasty cut on his forehead," he indicated the two-inch long gash over House's left eye.

"No idea, officer. He was like that when I found him. He must have hit his head when he was stumbling out of the bar. He still has his wallet on him, so he wasn't mugged." Logan didn't even blink at any of the questions, but answered them clearly and thoroughly.

"Okay, then. Just make sure he gets home all right. He should have that checked out in the morning. You don't want it to get infected. You have a good night, boys."

"Thank you. And you too, sir." The policeman turned and walked back to his motorcycle. Once he was clear out of sight, Logan let out a sigh of relief.

"Open the backdoor, Teller, so we can get him in there," ordered Logan.

"You want to put him in the trunk? Don't you think it'd be better if—"

"Yeah, and if we see another cop, they'll question why we have a half-dead man in the back of our SUV. Nobody can see him if he's in the hatch. Just do what I say and shut up. If it weren't for you, we wouldn't be in this mess."

"Fine, okay, fine, Logan." The two men heaved House, none to gently, into the back of the SUV.

Once House was laid out onto the hard ground of the trunk, Logan shut the door to the SUV and wiped his hands off on his trousers. "His clothes were soaked," he said.

"Yeah, like I didn't notice," replied Teller. He watched Logan, who was very obviously thinking of something. "What is it, Logan?"

"I know where we're heading. We have to get rid of him. We can't afford any questions right now."

"Logan, we don't even know what he knows." Teller wasn't completely comfortable of the fact of purposely getting rid of House.' Sure, he had seen a lot of carnage in his days, especially due to his military background, but this felt much too personal.

"He knows more than he's telling you. We know he lied once. For all we know, he knows all about CottonWood. We can't take the chance."

"You're sure about that?" Teller was going to have to accept this whether he like it or not.

"I am." Logan smirked. Of course there were other ways. But this way, he'd never have to deal with House ever again. He would be free to do whatever he wanted. The minute that he had met House, he had felt very uneasy. Even before he had met House, and Lisa had talked about his latest antics, he hadn't liked the man. A small part of Logan understood that House intimidated him, though he would never admit it. He had never felt that way with anyone before. He had always been calm and collected and in control of everything and every_one_ around him.

Another thought passed through Logan's mind. "Strip him," he said to Teller.

"What?" replied Teller, not believing what Logan had just told him to do.

"It's a nice, cold evening, isn't it? The temperature's, what, twenty-five degrees with a wind-chill of fifteen?"

"Logan, that's just cr—"

"Was I asking for your opinion, Teller? And when have you had a problem with being cruel? If anything, it's quicker this way." Logan didn't wait for a reply and got into the driver's side of the car. Looking in his rearview mirror, he watched as Teller removed House's pants, shoes, jacket, and button-up shirt.

"Do you have his wallet and cell-phone?" asked Logan.

"I have his wallet from earlier and his cell-phone's in his pants' pocket. Also, I do know when we're going a bit too far." Teller said, annoyed. He looked over House, clad only in his T-shirt, boxers, and socks. His eyes settled on the deep, ugly, irritated scar on House's right thigh. Teller winced as he thought about the amount of pain that must leave the injured man with. He almost felt sympathetic for the guy.

"The man will be dead within twenty-four hours. What does it matter to you?" Logan scoffed. "Just get in the front seat. We're taking a drive."

"Okay, Logan. Give me a moment." Teller closed the door to the backseat and took his place in the front passenger. Logan didn't wait for him to put his seatbelt on before he started driving.

The car was silent. The only noises to be made were the occasional sounds of the car going over a bump or a slight revving of the engine when Logan hit the accelerator. Every once in awhile, they could hear House moaning in the backseat.

After driving for about twenty-five minutes, Logan was the first one to talk. "So what happened with Crowley?" He was trying to change the subject to something other than the unconscious man that was currently in the back seat.

Teller grumbled to relay his own annoyance regarding the situation of that particular computer tech. "He 'accidentally' released Kanga712, the idiot. Now it's floating rogue data somewhere in cyberspace where anyone could pick it up." Teller felt anger surging up in him once again. "Damn it!" he yelled, punching the dashboard.

"712?" replied Logan, still maintaining his collected manner. "I knew I should have gotten rid of him. If anyone finds that program... I'll kill him. We're not letting anything screw this up." He looked over to Teller, who was massaging his temples.

"But besides the problem with Crowley, how are the plans working out?" asked Logan.

"It was all going as planned. How did you think it would go? I set it up in the first place and _I _don't mess things up," replied Teller. "CottonWood's buying every idea I've thrown at them so far. That tester program you sent me, however, didn't go over so well in the run-through. It crashed about a third of the way in. If we don't get another code in soon, they'll track the old one. Today's Monday so I would say we've got at least until Friday until we have to input the new code."

"Hmm." Logan responded.

"I don't think your tester had too much wrong with it. It's just a small glitch. Our guys told us it would be an easy fix."

"Whatever," said Logan. He then looked, frowning, in the rearview mirror to glance at the loathed diagnostician.

All of a sudden, Logan took an exit to some town called Flemington, New Jersey. He drove about two miles until he pulled over on some small dirt road concealed by trees, putting the SUV into park.

"What are you doing, Logan?" asked Teller. Logan hadn't said regarding his current plans.

"Do you know how alcohol effects the body?" asked Logan. Teller knew Logan was onto something.

"Of course I do! Well, the obvious things," replied Teller.

"Did you know that it causes the body's temperature to drop?"

"I can't say that I did. But what are you planning on do—"

"And you also said that he hit his head pretty hard, right?"

"You saw the gash on his head."

"I have a bottle Ketel in the backseat. Go get it," demanded Logan. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, fully planning to disregard anything Teller said until he complied.

"Vodka? Logan, really?" Teller asked.

"Do you have your M9 on you?" Logan asked Teller. He was referring to the pistol that Teller had brought over after his work overseas.

Teller gave a look of surprise at the sudden change of topic, but after meeting the gaze of Logan, he checked his belt, where he usually held the holster for the gun. When he didn't feel it there, his heart sank, but then remembered. "It's back at the office. I didn't think I'd need it."

Though he had been trained to always keep his weapon on him, Teller didn't like keeping his gun on his belt. He felt it too much of a crutch, something he'd go to even when he didn't need. Too often he'd reach for it in any sort of crises and he would much rather think his way through a situation than have to rely on brute force or threats.

"Well, I'm not going to take any chances in this, Teller." Logan said strictly, but evenly, his hands clenching on the steering wheel. "Either you go pour alcohol down House's throat or we're going over to the State Game Park 56 in Pennsylvania. I have a hunting license over there. It's perfect and nobody will—no—nobody _can_—ever find out. I just thought you'd rather just leave him in the park then having to shoot him in the head, but it's your call."

Logan wanted to be _absolutely_ sure that he would be rid of House, one way or another. Personally, he would rather not take a bullet to his head, but if that was what had to be done, then he would make sure it happened. Or rather, he would make sure that Teller committed the true crime.

Rolling his eyes, Teller got out of the car and went to back seat. Feeling around in the darkness, he found the bottle of alcohol that Logan had been referring to. Teller shook it and felt that it was about two-thirds of the way full. He called out to Logan. "I'll be back in a minute."

"I await your return," Logan deadpanned.

Teller shut the backseat door and walked around to the cargo area. Opening, it saw House laid out across the back. Teller sighed and hopped in. His back resting against the backseat, he pulled House, who was groaning, up into a sitting position.

Teller turned away to open the bottle of vodka, but when he did, House fell over again so his head was resting on Teller's shoulder. Teller pushed him the other way. With the bottle opened, he leaned House's head back and poured the alcohol. House sputtered a few times, but Teller massaged his throat, forcing the liquid down. After a few moments, though, he stopped, shaking his head. Instead, he leaned his own head back and took a few gulps himself.

Teller just sat there a moment, looking off into the woods, before getting up, closing the door, and went back to the front.

"There," he said. "Let's get moving."

Logan looked at the time and put the car back into drive. "We'll be there in about half an hour." Just then, the car binged and a little light popped up, indicating the low level of gasoline in the tank.

Logan sighed, but realized that they would never get where they needed going on an empty tank.

"I have to take a leak, anyway. We should at least get some snacks that would last us the way back too." Teller didn't _just_ need to use the restroom, though. Even since he had been in the trunk with House, he hadn't felt right.

Logan pulled into the gas station by one of the pumps. "I'll fill it up. You go inside. I'll be there in minute." Teller got out of the car to go inside, while Logan looked over his shoulder, knowing what was beyond the backseat. He smirked. Before, heading outside, however, he leaned over into the backseat and pulled out a hat. He pulled it up and put it on.

Teller didn't need one, but being the face of the company, Logan didn't want his being seen by any security cameras at some gas station. After filling up the tank, he hopped back into car and pulled around to the side of the small building, out of line of sight.

Teller headed to the restroom first, where he went into a stall and emptied the contents of his stomach. He wasn't usually a queasy man, but with his current stress and the bumpy road trip, he wasn't able to hold it in for much longer. Flushing the toilet, he walked over to the sink, washed his hands and rinsed out his mouth.

Teller was looking for a coke in the drinks' aisle when he heard the bell of the door open. He saw Logan coming through, looking quite impatient. Quickly, Teller grabbed his beverage and bag of chips from the stand and joined Logan by the cashier.

"What's with the hat?" Teller asked.

"It's cold," Logan replied. As the two men waited for their items to be scanned, the bell from the door rang again.

"That'll be $72.40, including gas," said the cashier. Logan handed four twenties to the cashier, but he wouldn't take it. The man was too busy looking at something going on behind Logan and Teller's backs.

"What _are_ you looking at," asked Logan, annoyed, as he turned around to see what the cashier had seen. But he didn't see anything but the few aisles of produce and packaged foods.

"Uh, nothing sir. Sorry." The cashier said. He quickly took the money and made change. When he handed it back to Logan, along with the receipt, again his attention was captured by something beyond just the current transaction. Logan didn't bother to look this time, however. He took his receipt and left, Teller following him, the bell from the door ringing in his wake.

"Have a good night!" said the cashier, halfheartedly, still trying to see what he had seen earlier disappear behind the coffee machine.

The two men walked briskly back to the car, Logan keeping his head low and turned away. Once inside the vehicle, Teller opened his coke while Logan put the SUV into gear and got back onto the Interstate. The rest of the car ride was spent in silence, with Teller eating his chips and Logan keeping his eyes of the road.

About half and hour later, after crossing the border from New Jersey into Pennsylvania, the headlights of the car lit up the sign stating, "State Game Park 56." Logan pulled into the connecting road. At this time of year, the game warden hadn't even bothered to put up the gate blocking the road.

Logan pulled to a stop at the side of the road, about two miles in. "Gun's in the backseat, underneath the seat. Go get it. I'm staying in the car."

"You're expecting me to—"

"Yes, Teller, I am."

"But I already—"

"Just shut up, already! I changed my mind and you're pulling the trigger whether you like it or not." Logan pulled his feet up to rest them on the steering wheel, closing his eyes.

Mumbling incoherently to himself, Teller met the chilly air as he stepped out from the car. He headed to backseat first. Just as Logan had said, in a leather case, there was a long hunting rifle, kept in pristine condition. Teller took it out of its case and made sure that it was loaded. He closed the trunk. Making his way over to the cargo door, he sighed and waited a moment before finally pulling it open. It was locked.

"Unlock the doors, Logan!" he called out. The locks unlatched and Teller tried again to pull the door open. He couldn't see anything through the darkness. Blinking his eyes, he tried to adjust them to the darkness. However, once they did, Teller wished they hadn't.

"Logan?" he questioned.

"What is it now, Teller? Just hurry up and get it over with." Logan was trying to sleep in the front seat of the car, as the clock was nearing midnight and they wouldn't be home for another two hours.

"Logan, He's gone."

**A/N: I just love my cliffhangers. So what do you guys think about Logan and Teller? Please leave a review with your thoughts, ideas, constructive criticisms, worries, opinions, problems, or just to say hi! I'm open to everyone and everything!**


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